#If These 5 Unbelievable Moments Were Not

[traumaone]

Lead The Way

pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Senior Resident!Reader

wordcount: 3.3k

warnings: mentions of cheating, age gap (late 20s and late 40s), brief mention of human trafficking (suspected in a patient)

synopsis: after over a year of pining over Robby, reader gets into a relationship to try and get over him, and gets cheated on. Robby (after putting up with a snippy reader) comes to the rescue

masterlist

!! not proofread so apologies for any mistakes !!

5:34 am

An hour on the treadmill this morning and the loudest, grittiest metal playlist you could find had done nothing to burn away the pure vitriol coursing through your veins.

Eight months of your life now wasted with one of the stupidest men on earth just so you could find him screwing a med student in your apartment. It hadn’t even been the act of catching them that had hurt the most, no, it was the fact that you hadn’t had a chance to break-up with the asshole before he’d screwed you over.

Embarrassment and rage were working double time to keep the fire burning in your chest even as you stepped through the doors of the ED. Your home, your sanctuary, now tainted by your thoughts about the fact that you’d been cheated on by a plastic surgeon.

Dana knew something had happened the moment she’d spotted you walking through the waiting room, back a day early from holiday and almost an hour before your shift, had you even been working, would’ve started.

“You look like you’re about to bring the wrath of God down on this place, kid.” Dana teased, but there glint of concern in her eyes.

“I don’t even have the words right now.” You leaned against the front of her desk, gripping the counter so hard you were sure it would leave marks.

“Let's start with why you’re back a day early from the break you desperately needed.”

That simple sentence sent another wave of wrath through your body.

“I’m well aware I needed the break, and it was fantastic until I came home last night to find my boyfriend screwing one of his med students in my bed.” You spit out the last part in a harsh whisper, careful to not let the elderly patient being wheeled by hear you.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Dana’s mouth was agape.

“I save lives for a living, Dana. I’ve lost count of the number of patients I've treated.” You ranted, running your hand down your face in exasperation. “I have manually pumped a human heart with my own hand, and he pumps implants into trophy wives… and he cheated on me.”

“Woah, woah, you got cheated on?” Ellis had somehow, despite having a usually recognisable gait, snuck up on you, her brows furrowed in concern and anger.

You let your head fall against your folded arms, letting out a groan as you heard Dana chuckle. Ellis’ hand rested on the middle of your back, comforting and familiar.

“Is this that asshole you met at the conference Gloria sent you to?”

You let out another groan at the memory. Gloria had insisted someone from the ED attend a conference on the modernization of emergency medicine (read: how to prioritize money over patient care). Robby, Gloria’s favourite man to torment, had been the obvious choice. He was an attending, pretty much the face of the ED at this point. And you, an ex-nightshift senior resident, not enough of a people person to be sent to a conference meant for networking, were completely powerless against the look in his unbelievably sad brown eyes when he’d complained to you about it over coffee, and offered to take his place.

It had been miserable, a weekend filled with board members who had never set foot in an ED telling you, an actual doctor, how you should be doing your job. Coping came in the form of multiple glasses of whiskey in the hotel bar, and that was when you met Preston. Overly charming, a little slimy, even, but he was there, sitting in front of you, and the man you wanted was not.

He’d wooed you, paid for your drinks, commiserated with you over how stupid this conference had been, asked to take you out to dinner when you both got back to Pittsburgh, and you’d agreed. An obvious mistake, but hindsight is always 20/20.

“The very same.” You nodded, peeking out from beneath your arms.

Ellis scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Who was that guy anyway? You never talked about him.”

A fact you were very grateful for at this moment.

“He was a plastic surgeon at Presby.” You explained, wincing as the words left your mouth. “I caught him with one of his med students last night.” 

“Of course you did, he was a plastic surgeon.”

You shot Ellis a glare.

“Okay, sorry.” She relented, raising her hands in surrender. “Not the time.”

“Not the time for what?” Abbott, the newest member to your pity party, questioned, regarding the three of you with a suspicious glance.

“Not the time to keep digging into my personal life.” You recovered quickly, halting any attempts from Dana or Ellis to spill your problems. “Got a case for me?”

Abbott frowned, but pointed at the board above you. “Got a girl in central fourteen who needs pain management for endometriosis.”

“I’ll head there now.”

You pushed away from the central counter with a soft smile from Dana. Abbott tracked you across the room with his gaze, not unusual, but you knew he wasn’t going to let what he’d seen at the front desk go easily.

As predicted, once you’d set your bag down at your desk Abbott had appeared at your side, his head slightly tilted as he tried to catch your eyes.

“You okay?”

Abbott was your oldest, if not your closest, friend since you’d started at the ED. you’d done your first three years of residency with him before switching to the day shift. According to Robby, he still called you his best resident. It’s not exactly a false statement. During the massacre that had been pitfest, the two of you had fallen back into your old rhythm, moving like a well oiled machine even after a year apart.

“I’m fine. Just had a rough start to the day.” You forced a smile that in no way convinced Abbot.

“You wanna go get some air before you start?” He offered, a knowing look on his face.

Abbott had introduced you to his ‘special spot’ after you’d lost your first patient. You never crossed the railing, not like he did, but you had found there to be something humanising about watching the sun set over the city.

“I’m good, I promise.” You assured, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze. “Just need to get in the groove.”

“If you change your mind you know where I’ll be. Sunrise is looking real nice this morning.” Abbott raised his brows at you, nodding towards the door to try and lure you away.

“Unlike you, I’m not a slacker.” You laughed, pushing at his shoulder. “Now leave me alone. I’m busy.”

“You don’t even have a patient yet.”

“Busy!”

7:22 am

Your first hour had passed by in a blur. You made your way through a patient needing pain management, road rash after a triathlon, botched boob job (not done by your ex, unfortunately), and an incredibly cute baby with an overcautious new mom before Robby had walked through the door.

He’d shown up in his usual uniform; dark cargos, scrub top with a clean white tee underneath, and his favourite hoodie with the sleeves pushed to his elbows. A simple outfit, yet somehow the most alluring thing you’d ever seen a man wear.

He’d taken a quick glance to the board, said a good morning to Dana, and taken the long way to the stairwell, sparing a quick glance into the room of your only current patient on his way. He and Abbot had created a small morning routine, meeting each other on the roof where they could debrief in private before descending to the chaos of the ED.

You envied that kind of relationship. You and Ellis had been close when you were still on night shift. The only two female residents on shift, commiserating over your dead social lives and keeping a tally of all the drunken patients who’d hit on you. She’d made work fun for you.

Collins, Landgon, and Samira weren’t bad company, they were honestly great, but shifting your entire work crew after three years had thrown you for a loop. They were all welcoming, but three years of working together had naturally formed bonds that unintentionally kept you on the outskirts, not as much anymore, but things had been lonely at the start.

Robby, however, had taken you in immediately. You’d spent years hearing stories about him from Abbott, reading the notes he left in your charts, hearing patients talk about how handsome the doctor from the shift before had been. He’d been intimidating at first, but it had only taken you your first shift to realise the two of you got on like a house on fire. Even Gloria had made a comment on it.

“Um, excuse me?” Whitaker’s voice brought you out of your reverie.

“Whitaker, good to see you.” You greeted, tapping into your computer to edit a chart. “How’re you doing?”

“Not too bad, a little tired.” He answered, shrugging his shoulders. “How are you?”

“I’m not doing too bad. Do you need me?”

Whitaker’s cheeks flushed at your phrasing. “Oh, um yes. A patient just came in with who she says is her aunt, but their dynamic’s a little… off.”

“Aunt’s answering questions for her? Patient checks in with the aunt before answering anything on her own? Both insist on not being separated?”

“Yeah, exactly that.”

You nodded. “And just to double check, the patient is above eighteen?”

“Yes, she’s twenty-six.”

That made you turn your head. “Okay, could just be a strange dynamic, but let's flag Kiara and I’ll come check it out.”

Whitaker led you to the patient, taking you straight past the stairwell Robby and Abbott had just emerged from.

Robby caught you by your shoulder, guiding you back so he could see your face. “You got a minute?”

You shook your head, pulling away from his touch. “Whitaker needs me for a possible case of trafficking. I’ll come find you after?”

His brows furrowed, his eyes searching your face for something you couldn’t figure out, but he nodded.

“Sure.”

8:07 am

“Hey, you still need me?”

Robby sat reclined at your desk, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose as he read over a chart.

“How’d things turn out with Whitaker’s patient?” He asked, peering at you over the rims of his glasses. 

God, you loved it when he did that, but your moment of enjoyment cut itself short for professionalism.

“It was a good catch on his part. We put the girl in a private room under the guise of a pelvic exam and Kiara is with her now.”

“Nicely done. Keep me updated when you learn any new information.”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. “Did you need me for anything else, or…”

“Abbott mentioned that you seemed a little bit off this morning. Came in a day early, at five in the morning no less.”

“Rat.” You muttered under your breath. You should’ve known that Jack would say something. “I’m fine, just caught a case of cabin fever. ‘M not used to having so much time off, just needed to get into the groove of things again.”

Robby nodded, but you could tell immediately that he hadn’t fallen for the lie.

“Okay, just remember I’m around if you need me.”

“Of course.”

11:48 am

Robby should’ve been focusing on his patients, focusing on the med students he had been tasked with teaching, but each time you crossed his path he couldn’t help but take a moment to admire you.

He could still remember the first shift he’d ever worked with you.

You were Abbot’s best resident, the nurse's favourite doctor (donuts and coffee every Sunday had secured you that position.), and despite being an R3, the two of you had never crossed paths.

Sure, he’d seen glimpses of you from across the ER, read the sticky notes you left scattered around your desk, had a million and one patients ask for the ‘charismatic, young doctor’ from the night before.

After almost three years of unsatiated curiosity, Robby had made peace with the fact that you’d become nothing more than an urban legend in his life. That was until a year ago when Abbott had needed him to cover a night shift, something to do with the wedding of an old friend he’d served with.

You’d greeted him with a smile and a fresh cup of coffee, shook his hand, and told him Abbot talked about him so much you felt like you already knew him. Robby had repeated the sentiment and tried to match your smile, but he was slightly too aware of just how soft your hand felt against his.

It had taken him less than an hour to realise why Abbot liked you so much. You were incredible at your job, even better with the patients, and the moment an urgent trauma had crossed the doors of the ambulance bay, you transformed. Warmth had quickly been traded for brutal efficiency. Your every move was clean, smooth, practiced to perfection.

Robby had been hooked on you by the end of the shift.

He hadn’t made a move on you. Even after only an hour he’d known you were miles out of his league, not to mention that the gap in age hadn’t been anything to blink at. He’d been sure you’d have no interest.

He’d clearly been wrong.

The shift had ended without incident, only a few immediate cases had come through the ambulance bay, but other than that it had been the victims of drunken brawls, sick kids, and elderly people falling in the dark.

You’d stopped him outside, laid a hand on his arm, offered him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen and told him how much you’d loved having him on this shift, and made him promise to say hello when your shifts crossed paths. It hadn’t been a declaration of love, but it had opened a new door.

He’d spent the next few weeks clocking in just a few minutes earlier, catching you just as you crossed the threshold back into the outside world. Robby would flirt (in his own way), and you’d flirt back. It had been a good start to his mornings, made him feel a bit younger, put a new pep in his step.

After a particularly long day, he’d found himself up on the roof with Abbott, staring out at the city looking for a reason to keep going, and Jack, as if he’d read his mind, had dropped the bomb that you were switching to the day shift. He hadn’t specified why, had just accused Robby of stealing his best resident. That simple sentence had kept him fueled for the next week.

The true nail in his coffin had been almost a year ago. You’d fallen on the sword for him, taken his spot at yet another ridiculous conference Gloria had insisted someone from the ED attend. That had been the moment he knew he was falling in love with you. And he fell fast.

He’d spent the entire week you were gone thinking about you, planning the best way to ask you out for dinner without forcing you into a corner if he’d read the signals wrong. And then you came back, exasperated by the amount of ridiculousness you’d put up with over the last week, as happy to see him as he’d hoped, but with a dinner date for a week ahead locked in your calendar.

You were incredible, he couldn’t blame another man for noticing, he’d just wished he’d noticed sooner.

Robby had spent the next eight months watching parts of you slowly fade away. Your smile lost its usual sparkle, your hair didn’t shine under the fluorescent lights the same way it used to. He had asked you about it, pressed you for details on more than one occasion to no avail. You always seemed to be carrying a weight on your shoulders, until this morning.

Even without Abbott’s words bouncing in his head, he could tell something in you had changed. Your eyes looked tired, shadowed by bags under your eyes, but that weight he’d noticed had finally seemed to leave your shoulders. Even with your exhaustion (and snappy attitude), you seemed lighter, happier than he’d seen you in months.

He knew he’d get the information out of you eventually, but for the time being he was just glad to see your true smile again.

7:21 pm

One death, four close calls, and one too many idiot patients later, You found yourself on the cool bench across from the hospital, beer in hand as you laughed with your coworkers. Robby sat next to you, as usual, a serene look on his face as he watched Perlah and Princess argue semantics about an old patient.

As the calm night washed over you, the guilt of snapping at Robby finally settled in your stomach. It hadn’t been fair of you, it wasn’t his fault your ex had turned out to be a piece of shit. A cruel part of you had still blamed him though, thinking that if he’d acted on the feelings you hoped he had for you, you wouldn’t have had to put up with subpar treatment for eight months.

One by one your coworkers headed home, wishing you a good rest of your night and promising to see you again in the morning. Before you knew it, only you and Robby were left in the comfortable silence.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you today.” You spoke softly, picking at the tab of your beer can. “I took out my anger on you and it wasn’t fair.”

“Thank you.” Robby nodded. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Do you remember that guy I’ve been seeing?”

Robby nodded again, a small frown furrowing between his brows.

“I found him in bed with one of his med students last night.”

Robby let out a heavy sigh, his head shaking slightly as he looked down at his shoes. “That is…”

“Yeah.” You almost laughed. He didn’t even need to speak for you to know what he would’ve said.

A moment passed before he spoke again. “You don’t deserve to be treated that way, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” You let the laugh escape you this time. “He was an absolute asshole.”

Robby laughed with you. “I didn’t know much about the guy, but what I did know, I didn’t like.”

That shot a strange feeling up your spine.

“Wanna know the worst bit?” You asked, pushing down the feeling.

“Of course.”

“I was more upset about the fact that I didn’t get to break up with him first than I actually was about the cheating.”

He laughed, a true deep laugh, the kind you heard rarely but loved.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with that shit.” Robby lectured, resting a hand on your knee where it almost brushed his. “As cliche as it sounds, it’s worth waiting for someone who you know will treat you right.”

“Someone like you?” You questioned, suddenly emboldened by the alcohol coursing through your veins.

Robby paused, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your lips for a split second. “I’m not sure I’m the man you want.”

“I know you are, Robby.”

His calloused hand moved to rest against your face, his thumb tracing over the ridge of your cheek. In the subtle glow of the park lights you could perfectly see his features, those gentle brown eyes you could never seem to forget. You leaned in, brushing your nose against his in a quiet invitation.

The feeling of his lips against yours had been more perfect than you’d imagined. They were slightly chapped, warm, and just right. His beard scratched against your cheeks in a way that made your thighs ache.

He pulled away after one kiss, ever the gentlemen, and rested his forehead against yours.

“Let me take you back to my place.” He begged, brushing a quick kiss against your cheek. “I’ll wash your clothes, walk you back to work in the morning.”

You struggled to bite back the smile on your lips. “Lead the way.”

[c0sm1cp0tat0]

Yandere! Saja Boys x Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.

Fresh tears were overflowing down your cheeks. Your eyes were wide. You stumbled off and away from the bed. Jinu rose slowly. His large palm delicately covered the harsh sting that you gave him on the delicately perfect sharpness of his cheek.

You weren't afraid. You were shocked at yourself for doing such a thing. But at the same time, you couldn't willfully bring yourself to care. Jinu had it coming. Just...you hadn't realized how much you had not moved on from your boyfriend yet. A single crass mention of his death and...you lost it.

In your head, it was as if he had just left you. A seperation. Like he'd come back someday. You couldn't face the fact that he was actually gone. Forever. You refused to come to terms with it. A love like that couldn't just end. What you had couldn't just be cut off like that, by a mere car driving over the speed limit.

When the dark-haired beauty of a man looked back at you again, his eyes were no longer dark. They were molten gold and shone with a fever-bright light.

"Fuck, that's hot." He licked his lips. You'd hit him so hard, there was a burst in his bottom lip. It regenerated rapidly before your very eyes.

You jolted like a frightened cat and scrambled backwards.

Well shit, you had no idea of what you'd done last night...but this, this was a means to sue for certain.

The boys leaned back against the headboard to watch. Abby, despite the smile on his face, pinched his nosebridge.

"Jinu, you're spooking the poor girl."

Jinu hadn't even realized that you had just bitch slapped him and he found it unbelievably hot when no other human in your place would be alive.

Infact, he found it so endearing that he was going mad. His face heating up, a smile growing, "Why haven't I killed you yet." It was muttered under his breath and you gulped.

"Murder is illegal and like I said, you just can't get away wi--"

He cut you off by smashing his lips to yours.

⌗☾︎ ‧₊˚ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶⋅₊˚☽︎⌗

Days passed, then weeks. You had been working from home. No one from work questioned you about your absence. Probably due to the passing of your lover. You smiled wryly to yourself.

Everyone you knew had known you were together. The pitiful looks you had gotten after his passing were insanely uncomfortable.

The Saja boys were...handfuls. To say in the least. The first time they had come back from a concert, they had crowded you with hugs and kisses and forced you in their huge ass couch to watch a movie with them. When you questioned them, the reply was something akin to 'we need to charge, hun.'

The next few times they had come back from a gig or an interview or fan meet, you had tried hiding. You didn't want them on you. Turned out; They fucking loved the hunt. Picture yourself, wailing as they carried you back to the sitting room. Squealing for hours as they kissed you deep and hard as punishment for 'trying to hide from your men'. Before proceeding to cuddle with your exhausted form innocently, like the first time.

Well, you're not trying that out again.

As of now, you were on sort of a probationary period. You agreed not to try escape or contact the authorities, they agreed to give you your laptop and phone and everything that you'd ever want.

But they still refused to stop bothering you. And as much as you tried to get over it, to ignore it or accept it or something, it was getting to you.

For example, in this particular moment where you were locked in. Your work was done for the day, but you couldn't help yourself and started another project. It was going well until Beni decides to climb in behind you and slip you onto his lap.

"When are you finished?? Are you finished yet?"

"[Y/N]. [Y/N]....[Y/NNNNN]...."

Do not engage. You sucked in a breath. It would be okay if you could even upset them somehow. But everything you did just seemed to rile them up like crazy. In a different sort of way from anger.

"You gave Romance attention today, but none to meeeee..." Yeah, attention in the form of a sharp slap on the hand because the pinkette wouldn't stop comparing your footsize to his, which was near double yours.

Too bad for you, Baby, by now, knew exactly how to elicit a reaction from you, "This... Hangyeol of yours. Was he super handsome? As much as us?"

You sat up straight. And turned to look at Beni. You knew this was a ploy for your attention. You knew he didnt actually care, but still. When it came to him you couldn't stop yourself, "Only the most handsome. He could have become an idol. Just like you lot. But he said he'd rather the normal life." You couldn't help but smile to yourself.

"But we're super loyal to you even of we have a lot of fans!! Doesn't that make us better??" Beni was desperate for a sliver of you approval. Even a crumb. On TV he was the proud, spoilt and utterly savage maknae. With you? He was true to his name; a needy, overgrown fucking baby.

Malak cut in, walking in, "That's true though." He muttered in that quiet but delicious voice of his. Roman walked in afterwards, adding in, "Yeah, watch this."

He switched on the TV and searched up their recent interview.

'So, Saja Boys~ Recently, there have been rumors of you having relations to our Huntrix girls!! Do you support these allegations??'

You watched as the Saja boys on the screen froze. Their smiles fell, morphing into expression of pure annoyance and indifference.

"We do not support these rumors whatsoever." Jinu was the first to speak, voice not so light and happy as usual. The interviewer flinched a little but still carried that plastic-pleasant smile on her face.

"We're only a debut group and have no connection whatsoever to our sunbaes." Abby was pausing between each word as if trying not to say anything overtly offensive.

"There's someone we already really like." Malak rasped coolly, leaning back in his seat as if he hadn't just spoken ground-breaking news to all of their fans. Unapologetically.

The crowd went absoulutely crazy. You flinched at the volume of the cheers. You had imagined as much, though. Such news of an entire boyband liking one person? And it was also delivered by that boybands most silent, mysterious dude.

You stood up, but were yanked right back. You squeaked. Abby's absoulutely huge biceps around your throat, engulfing your face and literally suffocating you. You could never get used to it no matter how many times they smothered you.

You were still afraid of him in particular. You kicked your legs, trying to flail your way out of this. He chuckled as if dealing with a hissy kitten, effortlessly locking you in. A nasty lick up your small, chubby cheek made you shriek.

"Look what we did for you, darling~ Shouldn't you take responsibility?"

"You chose to d-do that-- s'not my respo--"

Romance's eyes were crazy as he grabbed you abruptly and pressed his lips to yours. Hard.

Jinu walked in and got straight to the point, silencing your anguished squeaks.

"We'll make you a deal, [Y/N]. You're the lead manager of STU Tech, correct?"

You tried to ignore the fact that you were in Romances lap right now and he was pressing kisses up your inner wrist, instead focusing on Jinu in a glare.

"I'm not making deal with the likes of-"

"We'll let you go on one condition."

Suddenly, by magic, you were all ears.

"Drop your tech job. Become our full-time manager."

You flinched as if burned, "No."

"The pay is way better." Baby remarked, smoothening out your hair for you.

"No."

"But whyy!? You get free merch!" Romance whined pitifully.

"And free sketches of my abs!!" Abby added unhelpfully too.

"No."

Jinu shrugged, "Then I guess you'll just be stuck here with us for all eternity.

That thought burst you out of your denial, "No-- Wait!"

He turned back around and sat on the teatable. Legs spread, cheek in his palm, elbow propped up on his thigh. "Then what is it that you choose?"

Abbott licked his lips at your evident internal turmoil, tight arm muscles twitching as he twirled a strand of your hair. Whilst you blatantly tried to lean away.

"I'll-- I'll work as the manager. But you have to return all my legal files!!"

Jinu clicked his fingers. A stack of papers, labelled clearly in a folder materialized in thin air and dropped into your lap. Your ID rested on top.

You tried not to show how spooked you were by their powers but ultimately failed as your hand hovered above the card hesitantly.

Baby gave a small, mean chuckle. You immediately glared at him and snatched it up.

"Fine then. I guess I....work for you now." Your voice went high pitched and soft-like at the end of the scentence. Because you knew it was going to be anything but easy. And nothing close to what you were used to.

"It'll be easier than your tech job. Less numbers. More... interaction." Romance whispered the last bit in your ear, giving you a tentative little squeeze. The hairs on your neck all stood up, you went rigid.

You'd learnt something over the past week or two. It was that they knew how to move in sync. It could drive you crazy sometimes.

Like now where Romance had his arms locked around you. And while Beni stroked your cheek with pastel painted fingers to make you look at him, Abby leaned in from the other side and planted a kiss on your cheek.

"Cute," The violet haired man breathed as you screeched in distress, rubbing furiously at your cheek.

"Whatever!! I'll do whatever I need to-- let me pack my stuff and get outta here!"

Romance released his hands and watched as you stumbled out of their embrace, turning back to regard them cautiously with those lovely eyes before rushing up to your room.

"I think we're becoming addicted," He sighed. And for once, he was right. Even Mystery gave a subtle grunt of agreement.

"If only she wouldn't- like- run her hand through her hair like that." The pink haired man helplessly sighed again.

"Wish she'd stop with those witty comebacks. Just using that sexy brain of hers in general. Its hard to hold myself back sometimes." Abby leaned back and draped an arm over the back of the couch.

Baby fist-bumped him, "I feel ya brother."

"She's so small. And warm. And smells good, too." Mystery rasped. He had a lolipop in his mouth. Everytime he'd try touch you or confine you to his lap you'd give him one and try exchange it while you got away. It was a poor substitute for your proximity but it would have to do for now.

Mystery behaved all beast-like but he wasn't stupid. As soon as you signed that contract to work in their company, you wouldn't be able to get away. In the human world, contracts with an entertainment company were like slave contracts. Until the prolonged period of employment was over, you wouldn't be leaving.

And by god, would they make that period long. You wouldn't be able to escape by any means.

When you got up to your room, Abby was already in your guest bed. You backed up. He clicked his fingers and the door slammed shut behind you. Not taking your eyes off of him, you threw yourself at the door, twisting and yanking the handle desperately, trying to open it.

He tried to reassure you just a beat too late for it to be considered genuine. And he knew it, "Hey, hey calm down. I'm not gonna hurt ya. Just here ta...help you pack." He watched you, eyes flashing, "Since you're so damn desperate to get out of here."

"What do you expect!?? You're strangers who trapped me here for no reason..."

"No reason-- are you still denying it??" He sat up and groaned, throwing his head back. It accentuated his jawline. You looked away.

"Denying what."

"That we like you."

You flinched. Lately you'd gotten used to the five of them saying that to you over and over. Whispering words of love and reverence in your ear. Driving you insane. But when it was declared loud and proud like that, you couldn't shut it out as always.

"Wait-- that still doesn't mean you can hold me in captivity here."

"It can for us. We're demons. Do you know how much more deeply we feel emotions than humans do? We haven't felt anything akin to this in centuries. It hit us hard, darling. You hit us hard." He wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you. Imagine; centuries of misery and obedience and shame. And suddenly you walk past and shake up all their worlds like this. Without even meaning to.

You opened your mouth to answer, but for once, you didn't have any words. It was just as well, because the door swung open the next second.

"We're helping you pack!" Roman announced, marching in with Malak and Beni behind him.

He plopped down on your bed like he owned the place-- well-- he did. Baby grabbed your pillow and pressed his face into it.

An audible inhale could be heard. You turn to see Mystery with one of your panties in his fist. Sniffing shamelessly, then pouting, wounded as he realized that it was completely clean.

You shrieked in rage and lunged at him. Like one of those sticky weeds, you got his hands off your undergarment, but then he'd latched onto you instead. And by god was his grip that much tighter on you, the real thing. Without the effort, as usual, he pulled you down onto his thighs

He put his face to your neck and sniffed. Then kissed it. You sucked in sharply. This should be over soon. But then he kept going down. And soon, the crazy shit was trying to duck his head between your thighs.

The rest were watching as you squealed in anguish, twisting and cursing like a trooper. Your small hand clenching Malak's hair and yanking it back desperately. With his hair pulled back, you could see the way his eyebrows were furrowed, the morbid concentration in those pretty eyes as he completely focused in on your crotch. Trying to get to it one way or another.

"Hey buddy, calm downnn--" Romance laid a hand on Mystery's shoulder, but he had this grin of approval on his face that belied his actions, the stupid fucker.

Malak snapped at him. No actually, Roman pulled his hand away in time to not get it bitten off.

"See? This is what you get for denying our feelings for you." Abby taunted

"Wait she's still denying them?" Romance, faced him with a raised brow.

"Fuck that, she doesn't even believe them!" The purple head replied, flared eyebrows raised in an expression of equal disbelief and annoyance.

"Shut the fuck up and help me!!" You squeaked. Your arms were hurting from all the pulling and yet you hadn't yanked a single micro-hair from Malak's head. Inhumane hair as well?? Damn unfair.

You were on your back now. And Mystery was nuzzling your calves, still trying to get a taste of the feast between your legs. If only you'd just let him, he'd make you feel soooo good--

"This should be fun." Beni mused to himself.

"I'll-- I'll give you something else-!! So please-- Ah fuck, you psychotic shit!!" You voice had reached a fever pitch by the end of the scentence because you could feel that ghost of breath on your sensitive inner thighs. Malak hadn't even paused to listen to you.

Just the sound of your voice talking to him riled him up enough to try harder, pulling forward like a dog on a leash, pretty lips open and almost panting--

"Aww, don't be mad at him, he just wants to have you close~" Abby purred, stretching again. The last surviving button of his shirt popped open, flashing you.

"Stop justifying it!!", You screeched, unable to withhold yourself.

"Lucky fucker, he gets away with it cus his brain is muddled," Baby mumbled begrudgingly.

That hit you. Were you that much of a pushover?? I mean, look what was happening to you right now. But there was the side of it where the offenders were literally these demons with actual POWERS who were worshipped like literal gods by their fans.

You weren't dumb. They'd made such a perfect, happy-looking persona to the public, even the police wouldn't believe what you were telling them. If you imagined it, it would appear as if a die-hard fan was deluded by her own fantasies.

You didn't want Mystery to get away with this. But what consequences would he have to pay? Nothing. 'Cus you're too weak to even get any revenge. If you kicked, he caught your ankles and pressed kisses to them like you'd given him a gift. You were only so far from going completely feral and biting his neck out.

But fuck that, you didn't even need revenge. You weren't that pathetic. You just wanted to get away. You wanted peace.

He withdrew himself now. You imagined because he'd given some thought to what you said. You start your offers, "Ten lolipops--", He grabbed your thigh again, "No-- wait wait wait!!" He paused, waiting for your improved offer.

Helpless, you turn to Romance, "What does he like?"

Roman leaned back, regarding you with that cocky-male-satisfied smirk because you refused to ever turn to him for help.

"Malak, if you stop, [Y/N] will give you kisses whenever ya want however ya want for the rest of the week."

Malak withdrew himself immediately. But he still caught the hand in his hair, nuzzling into it.

It took you a few beats to register the offer made in your stead. It was a Monday, "What!!?"

The pinkette man laughed at your bulging eyes. "What do you mean, 'What' ? You asked me what he likes. He likes you. We all do. And, the sooner you accept it, the easier it will be for you."

⌗☾︎ ‧₊˚ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶⋅₊˚☽︎⌗

TAGLIST ༉‧₊˚✧↳ @yumekono @levifiance @amery-benson-cvii @wantstoliveinfantasy @osball @apelepikozume @st3f13ily @little-ponkan @strayharmony943 @lazy-panther @scara-simp69 @p1nkpaperstars @ryuucollapse @tatsuri-zomushiki @crescent-z @wpdarlingpan @natllo @daikiswife @kinichportablecharger @realifezompire @i-am-here3 @daiyanomochi

[nikovraskol]

crack baby ; prologue

wc ; 1572 masterlist after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing and why are all eyes suddenly on you ?

tw ; death, neglect, brief mention of drugs, curse words

prologue, one, tbc..

Your death was completely preventable.

As you lay on the concrete floor of the cold alleyway, you can’t help but feel a sense of peace. Yeah, sure, you were shot 5 times and you’re currently bleeding out in some piss-smelling drug-ridden pavement. At least you’ve died in a somewhat honorable way, people will have a tell to tale, whether it’s good or bad, you’ll be remembered for a while.

Or maybe that’s wishful thinking, maybe the lack of blood is making you delirious. There’s no way you’ll be remembered as anything but the child that haunts the manor, that stalks around, staring at the residents of the Wayne manor with hopeful eyes. A child who doesn’t belong, who’s body isn’t able to fill in the cracks in the family, a child who wasn’t able to give anything, to devout anything.

A child of 21, but a child nonetheless. 

The way you got caught up in the shooting was so unbelievably stupid, you were too nice to refuse taking on an extra shift from your co-worker, working overtime for free because you didn’t know how to say no. You got caught up in a fight between goons on your way home. For a brief moment, that small child you had buried foolishly believed your father would swoop down and protect you.

Then you were shot, again and again and again.

You don’t want to die, you decide at the last minute. You want to go back in time, to tell your poor 16-year-old self that yearning for the love of a family who doesn’t have love to give is foolish. A foolish child dying a foolish death.

And then, your eyes shut for the last time, you can almost hear your mother’s low humming, the smell of the dingy, old apartment you used to live in with her, you can taste the cold food she worked to provide (you can feel her hands on your neck, can hear her apologies ringing over and over as she cries).

It’s peaceful, almost nice.

Until you wake up – and your first thought is; what the fuck?

Your hand instinctively moves to your lower abdomen where you were shot – you were shot! You remember the burning pain shooting through you, so why on earth are you unharmed and.. in your bedroom?

It’s strange, why are your old posters up? Trinkets you distinctly remember throwing out, clothes you don’t wear thrown about – and that’s when it happens.

Your eyes catch a reflection in the mirror, your reflection. Your reflection that isn’t yours, why is

your hair shorter? Why are you so small– why are you.. Sixteen?

“What the fuck?” You hiss, jumping out of bed – wobbling as you whip your head around, taking in every nook and cranny of the small room. “What the fuck?!” 

You jump towards the mirror, leaning in as you slap, pinch and stretch your face, awed by the youthful appearance, you had forgotten how cute you looked. No, that seems like the wrong word, you looked sixteen. Just an average sixteen year old, healthy and alive (somehow).

A few moments ago you were lying in a pool of your blood in a run-down alley, an unloved 21 year old – now you’re sixteen again, and you have a chance to change the inevitable! If you ignore the pit of dread in your stomach. Sixteen had been the worst year of your life, full of anger and hormones and teenage drama. Sixteen had been the year you struggled the most.

On the bright side, at least you had a trial run..?

“Young Master (Name)” A british, familiar voice calls out and you tense, whipping your head around to see Alfred. It had almost slipped your mind, Alfred is alive. He’s standing before you, as straight and proper as always, smiling at you as if nothing had changed. As if you hadn’t sobbed at his funeral, as if you hadn’t cursed your family for dragging him into their mess, as if you hadn’t spent countless nights at his grave, as if–

“Are you.. alright?” He asks, taking in the flabbergasted expression on your face – to which you straighten up, nodding with a shaken exhale as you ignore the churning of your stomach. You felt nauseous, everything felt too real in an uncomfortable way. A very uncomfortable way – the mix of emotions threatening to consume you.

“You didn’t come down for breakfast, I was beginning to grow worried.” He explains, taking in the way you nod blankly once more, his brows furrowing. “Is– everything alright”

“Y– yes, I’m just not hungry, I’ll– have something later.” You can’t keep your voice from trembling, you’re five seconds away from breaking down and sobbing before him, but you don’t want to worry him. You need to figure out a game plan, you’ve no time for stupid pleasantries like food, plus even if you tried to eat you’d probably throw up then break down sobbing.

“Alright, Young Master. But please, eat something before noon.” Alfred sighs, clearly worried by your peculiar behaviour, his eyes lingering for a moment too long before he leaves your room, shutting the door behind him with a resounding click. Oh fuck, how are you supposed to interact with anyone in this family if a two minute interaction is enough to have you trembling? Whatever, it matters not! You fumble around with your face for another moment before letting out a long sigh, your head already aching from the bewilderment of the situation. You shuffle over to your bed, plopping down with another huff. You had no idea what to do, no plan to go forward, but you had to figure something out. 

You couldn’t stay in the Manor, you couldn’t deal with the dismissive eyes, the fake words of reassurance. You couldn’t stand curling up in your room, listening to the distant sounds of laughter as everyone celebrated without you. You couldn’t stand being that child again.

“I need to leave.” You say with more firmness than you had intended, your eyes set on the mirror before you. Of a sixteen-year-old (Name), staring back at you with pitiful eyes, you’ll get them out, you’ll give them a future – you’ll give yourself a future.

“Okay. Now, where do I begin?” You mumble, staring up at your ceiling before reaching for your phone. Time to go house hunting at sixteen. Yipee.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Alfred was picking up your plate with a thoughtful expression, breakfast had always been your favourite time of day because it always gave you a chance to see your family. No matter how you felt, or how busy you were. How peculiar.

It’s unusual for you to so blatantly skip it, there’s also that whole thing with your demeanour. Something in you had shifted, and he didn’t like it – it felt as though you were slipping away, as though you had resigned, as though you had stepped back, content in living as a shadow lurking in the dark corners of the Manor.

That simply won’t do. 

He won’t give up on that smiling child, looking up at him with their front tooth missing, dirt staining their clothes as they ramble on about how they found a top secret hide-out, how they can’t wait to tell your big brothers their adventures. 

Well, he’s sure with a few clever strings pulled he can finally put you on centre stage, with the lights shining on you. He just needs to remember to reserve a front row seat, for himself, of course.

“What the fuck?” You grumble, repeating that sentence for the nth time as you angrily type on your phone – why is every apartment in this city and the city over so bummy? It’s either too expensive or overridden with rats or overtaken by gangs.

You never moved houses in your past (?) life, staying in the Wayne Manor was easy once you accepted the inevitability of chasing after a fruitless relationship. Plus, the housing in Gotham and Bludhaven has always been..

Well, it could be better!

“(Name).” Your heart jumps out of your chest as an strangely familiar voice calls out for you, dark, low, paternal. Who on earth?

Your heart sinks as your eyes shift to the figure at your door. Batman, Bruce Wayne, your father, is in your room? What the fuck? This had never happened in your life, certainly not at sixteen. You can recall every single time you’ve ever seen your family, so why? Your hand curls around your phone as you gape up at your father. This isn’t supposed to happen. The one thing grounding you through this crazy, disconnecting experience was the comfort that you were familiar with your future, that you had a grasp on what events are bound to go down.

You’ve been awake for about twenty minutes – how’s it already changed?! Inside you, a deep part of your soul shifts, the air in the room suddenly being sucked in by his overwhelming presence, his eyes – cold and calculating, sizing you up as if you were a specimen, as though you were a pretty piece of silver at an auction and not his flesh and blood, your breathing become uneven as you try to grasp at your memory, anything that might've slipped your mind regarding interactions with your father.

You draw a blank, this has never happened. It's not supposed to happen – what the fuck?!

“Let’s go for a walk.”

yall i feel like this sucks i havent written in like two years im so rusty omg im so embarresed ill die bye

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

Midnight Visits

Part ten of The Rain series

Synopsis: Rook and Che'nya sneak into the infirmary on two separate nights to visit the recovering Prefect.

TW: Broken bone, entering without breaking, Rook Hunt

A/N: Writing block sucks. Sorry it took so long but I was finally able to form words how I wanted to again!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 (here), Part 11 (coming soon), . . .

Waking up the next morning you were undoubtedly better rested than you had been in a long time, but you were also a little peeved at a certain fae for spelling you to sleep in order to avoid your topic of discussion.

And boy were you happy you slept so good because the rest of the morning was a blur of tests and Styx staff. A good portion of your bandages had been removed by now. Your stomach, head, and select spots on your arms and legs were now freed from bandages. The staff decided you were far enough along in the treatment and that your body was reacting well enough to magical treatments, despite them being foreign to you, that they could do some more intensive procedures and repair your broken bones. The casts were removed, and while the bones were definitely healed now, the places where the cracks and splinters used to be were unbelievably sore. According to the doctors, this soreness would last about a week. And, over this week, you wouldn't be allowed any visitors.

The first couple days passed unbearably slowly. Nothing to do, nobody to talk to, you couldn't even play the games Idia left you because you were too sore. The TV (a gift from Idia as well) had timed out and so you were left to stare at the ceiling and hallucinate patterns in the grain of the stone.

"That spot looks like Roi du Lions."

You nearly jumped out of your skin. Your body ached in protest and a pained yelp ripped from your throat. You could barely see a mop of blonde hair out of your peripherals. "Rook?" you winced.

"Oui" came his unbothered response. Likely understanding how sore you were at the moment, Rook moved to sit on the edge of your bed so you could properly see him. He looked the same as usual except for some very distinctive leaves in twigs that were tangled in his hair. They were from a tree of which there was only one on campus. That tree was outside the window to the room you were now sickeningly familiar with.

You didn't bother asking how he managed to get inside the room, the slight breeze you felt tickling your cheeks answered that question rather clearly. Instead, you asked: "How long were you in the tree?"

Rook gave you his signature cryptic smile. "Only three days this time. Worry not. I packed myself rations for my stay in the canopy."

You ignored the absurdity of his statement mostly and asked: "This time?"

"Oui!"

You stared at him.

His face remained in a close eyed smile. He looked like a fox.

"Rook-"

"Oh! Do not look at me with such an expression! I simply could not simply allow my beloved Trickster to lay all alone whilst they battled so valiantly!"

You managed to decipher his flowery words ad essentially being him saying he had been in the tree for some duration between the time you first got admitted and now in order to keep an eye on you. You didn't bother asking if it was an occasional thing of if he was up there the whole time. You weren't sure you wanted to hear the answer.

Despite everything, Rook seemed to be at his usual level of weirdness. You were just about to wright him off as being the one who took all of this the best when a phone screen flickered before your face.

"My first stint was for 4 weeks! I was in such a rush to be by your side that I hadn't even brought rations and supplies with me! I had to rely on Monsieur Crabapple and Roi du Poison to bring me food and water in exchange for information on your condition." On his phone screen flickered an image of an unruly and wild looking Rook. His hair was far from its usual neatness, dirt and mud dirtied his clothes and complexion, his usual cleanshaven face was prickly with stubble, and he overall looked like he had just survived a month living like a beast in the forest. "Roi du Poison was quite cross with me when I finally returned, but his heart was not in his scolding."

"Wait. . .were you out there throughout the entire storm?" you croaked, memories of the storm conjured from Malleus' emotion flashed through your mind. How had he survived that?

Rook simply smiled and reached a hand up to brush the hair from your face.

He didn't stay much longer after that. He left declaring you needed rest. As he left you realized. . .his hair was much longer.

The next few nights after Rook's visit were peaceful. Your soreness was now just a dull ache of a memory of its prior intensity. You were absentmindedly staring up at the TV across the room, watching some old cartoon professor Trein had brought over CDs of saying his daughters loved it when they were younger and perhaps you would too. It was the last night of your recovery period. Tomorrow you would get to see another of your friends.

You finally decided to turn off the cartoons and go to bed for the night when you began to see flashes of pink and cartoony looking smiles out of the corners of your eyes.

You flicked off the television and were about to lay down when- "Aww. I liked that one."

You surprised even yourself by not being startled by the voice. Perhaps you'd had a suspicion in the back of your mind that you hadn't been simply hallucinating.

"Well it's no fun if you don't jump" a floating head materialized above the mattress beside you and huffed.

"Hello, Che'nya"

The mattress beside you dipped as a body materialized to go along with the head. "Hello, Little Prefect." Che'nya grinned back. "You really have set the whole island into a uproar, you know."

"I'm sure that's an exaggeration." you sigh. NRC was understandable since it's the school you go to and therefore you knew a lot to the people there and they knew you. RSA was too to an extent since you had a couple friends there. But the whole island? Maybe the press was annoying the townsfolk?

"Oh, but it's not" Che'nya coos. "I don't think you realize it, Little Prefect, but you've wiggled yourself into lives and hearts of many people here." As he spoke, his tail flicked lazily around. "Neige was nearly inconsolable."

Your eyes flick over to the bouquet on your windowsill. You received it pretty soon after the incident and a spell had been cast on it to keep the flowers from wilting.

"And I was hardly in any shape to do any consoling myself." Suddenly his soft tail coils around your leg while his fingers intertwine with yours.

"Che'nya" you sigh. "Stop joking."

The beastman laughs at your blank expression but tucks his head under your chin. "I'm not." he pouts.

You open your mouth to reprimand him once more but stop and close it again when you feel his grip on your hand tighten ever so slightly.

The room falls silent and you soon fall asleep. When you wake up in the morning Che'nya is gone but the side of the bed on which he laid the night before is still warm.

You can't help but remember how the way he clung to you last night felt more. . .desperate than usual.

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[sweetcalebb]

AI Zayne: Feelings?

Even though you're an adult, your dad insists you need an AI "bodyguard." You don't want one though, especially not one that feels so real. But you don't have a say in the matter so now you're stuck with one.

cw: controlling dad, attachment issues, slow-burn (?)

INSPIRED BY: @syluses and their yummy fic!

thank u sm! <3

₊˚ ✧

"I'm not a kid! I don't need a—" Your eyes flick to the thing in the corner. Zayne. Or whatever its name is. He's standing in his charging station, head bowed, eyes shut, looking way too... human. "A creepy babysitter!" you snap.

You pace around the room, your eyes drifting back to him every few seconds like he might activate on his own at any minute. "I'm an adult for God's sake!" you hiss into the phone, knuckles turning white with effort.

"This isn't up for debate," your dad snaps back, his patience wearing thin. You'd had this argument about 5 times already, and you were both getting sick of it.

You sigh, running a tired hand through your hair. You glance at Zayne for the twentieth time. He's still motionless. You're not sure what you expected, but something about him—or it—is unnerving.

You want to argue back. Want to tell your dad you won't put up with some operating system disguised as a human following you around, but the argument dies in your throat.

Because you know your dad.

And you know there's no winning.

"It says he's off," he finally says, his words calm, but laced with an undeniable edge of frustration. "Turn him back on."

You bite your lip, heat rushing to your cheeks. Who the hell did he think he was? Telling you what to do? Assigning someone—something—to dote on you? To strip you of your privacy under the guise of safety? It was bullshit.

But you don't say that.

You simply scoff into the phone. "Fine."

You hang up and immediately toss your phone on the couch harder than you mean to. It bounces off the cushions and lands on the floor with a loud thud, but you don't even bother to pick it up.

You pace the room instead, muttering silent curses and tugging at your hair.

Your dad was unbelievable!

He just—

He was always—

You pause, taking a stuttering breath. You need to stop thinking about him. Just.. do literally anything else.

You pad over to Zayne, your arms crossed, your brows knit together, and your breath uneven. You reach toward him, pressing the button behind his ear, and step back when his eyes blink open.

He takes a moment. Blinks again, then focuses on you.

He's silent for a second before saying, "Good evening."

You don't say anything, just stare.

For a moment, you almost feel bad. Zayne just looks so human, and you're here, ignoring his attempt at polite conversation. Then you remember he's only an operating system. Then you don't feel bad. Just mad all over again.

Zayne blinks again. "Your heart rate is elevated."

Your brows pinch closer.

What the fuck? Was he doing bio scans on you now?

"Are you experiencing stress?

"Don't do that," you huff.

"Don't do what?"

"Don't.." You pause, taking a small step back. "Don't scan me."

"My job is to protect you. I have to sc—"

"Stop it," you snap, your voice rising with frustration. You're not mad at him. Not entirely. But he's the only one you can take your anger out on right now. "Just don't."

There's a beat of silence before Zayne nods. "Okay. I won't scan you anymore."

You bite the inside of your cheek.

Thanks, Dad.

—

The next weeks blur past. You can't tell where one day ends and the next one starts. All you know is Zayne won't leave you alone. It doesn't matter where you go, he's always a few steps behind. Quiet, yet always right there.

It makes you want to scream. At nothing, at him, at your father for giving you this thing that can't seem to give you a second of peace.

You did once.

You just got sick of hearing his heavy footsteps behind you every second of the day, so you snapped back around and began yelling at him to stop following you like you were some glass doll.

He didn't even flinch. Just stared at you, then nodded and said, "I'll keep my distance from now on."

He didn't stop following you completely. He always lingered nearby—at a safe distance.

Still, you hadn't yelled at him since. You thought it would've made you feel better, but it only made you feel worse. Like you were screaming at a pet that didn't understand what they did wrong.

Instead, you were nicer.

Just a little nicer.

…Then a lot nicer.

Suddenly, his presence didn't bother you as much. No, you'd sit near him instead of across the room like you did the first few weeks with him.

Suddenly, you were making offhand comments about whatever you were reading for the pure sake of starting conversations.

And Zayne seemed to follow the same sentiment. You weren't sure you could call it that, but it felt like it. He started bringing you tea without asking. Started noticing things you weren't sure he was programmed to notice, like your haircut or your new clothes.

It was unsettling and comforting all at once.

And now you're in your room, screeching into the phone. "Maintenance?! Doesn't he have like—I don't know—auto updates? Or.. something?"

"I thought you'd be relieved. You've been stuck with him for a month," your dad says.

You stay silent.

You should be relieved. You were against Zayne from the very start.. but now? Do you really want him gone?

"He's supposed to have maintenance every month. He'll only be gone for a day or two."

Still, you say nothing.

Because who the hell does he think he is?

First, he forces this robotic bodyguard, or babysitter, or—whatever it's supposed to be—on you, then he thinks he can just take it back? What a fucking—

You shut your eyes, bringing your hand up to your face to rub your temple. You're overreacting. You know that. It's not like your dad's taking Zayne away forever.

It's just a day or two.

It's the principle that upsets you. That's what you tell yourself, anyway.

"He's doing just fine," you finally mutter. "He doesn't need maintenance."

Your dad sighs, and you can practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose. "You don't get to decide that." His voice is smooth, but it's tinged with that controlled edge you know too well. "It's already scheduled."

"Then cancel it."

Your dad scoffs. "Why do you insist on being such a stubborn..—" He doesn't finish his sentence. Just lets out a low rumble. "I'm not canceling it. Why are you fighting me on this, of all things?"

He waits, then slowly adds, "Are you attached to it?"

Your breath hitches at his question.

"No," you mutter. "I'm not attached."

"Then what's the issue?"

"There's no issue."

"Then stop fighting this."

You groan. It was always the same thing with your dad. You were sick of him making choices for you.

"No. You can't just take him."

"Are you just arguing for the sake of arguing? When will you learn to—"

"He's mine."

It slips out before you can stop it.

And the world stills for just a second when the words finally register.

He’s mine.

It's childish. So embarrassingly childish, and you know your dad is on the other line with his brows furrowed and his mouth open.

"He's yours?" He echoes. It's silent for a second, then he laughs. The mocking sound grates on your nerves. "If you're this upset over it, then maybe the AI's gotten too close. Should I report it?"

You have to stop yourself from blurting out 'no' too quickly. You remind yourself to rein it in before speaking.

"It's not like that," you huff. "I just don't like you deciding things and then telling me at the last minute."

Your dad sighs. "Because if I asked, you'd argue. Like you're doing right now."

"But you can't just—"

"It's getting maintenance tomorrow. That's final."

"You don't get to just—to just decide that! He’s with me all the time—I should be the one to say when he gets maintenance!"

Your chest heaves with your angry breaths as you wait for your dad to argue back—because he always does—but it's silent.

Too silent.

"Hello?"

You pull your phone away from your ear to look at the screen, and you scoff. He hung up. That bastard hung up.

"Fuck you!" you yell into the speaker (even though he can't hear it) before slamming your phone down onto the bed with a quiet thud. The sound isn't nearly loud enough, though. So, impulsively, you turn to your nightstand and shove your humidifier off.

Your dad had no right.

No right whatsoever.

You're not attached.

Zayne is just a robot trained to keep you safe. Nothing less, nothing more. And yet you find yourself storming into the living room just to look at him.

You stop in front of him, the tension slowly bleeding out of your shoulders. He's charging, head bent and eyes closed—the way he always looks when he's plugged in.

He's so peaceful like this. So blissfully unaware. It makes you want to slap him because it just isn't fair.

It isn't fair that he doesn't have to feel these feelings. It isn't fair that he doesn't have so much frustration that he thinks he can punch a hole into the wall.

Slowly, you reach out, touching your fingertips to his lashes. The designers made them so long and pretty. Almost like he was made for you to like him. To lure you in. That wasn't fair either.

You stare for a moment longer before your fingers gently slip behind his ear. You want to make yourself believe this is a grudging decision, but you know it's not.

You press the power button, your stomach twisting as you wait for him to blink his eyes open. When he does, you don't even have the chance to say anything before he eyes you—once—then says, "You're upset."

You let out a soft breath through your nose. "I'm fine."

"You always say that when you're not."

You remind yourself he's programmed to be perceptive, but it doesn't stop the little squeeze your heart does.

"What's wrong?"

You shrug. "Nothing."

Zayne looks at you, searching for any shift or twitch that might tell him what happened. You don't give him the chance, though. You're already shuffling over to the couch and sink down.

Zayne follows, still trying to figure out what's bothering you.

"Do you know what maintenance you need?"

Zayne's eyes flicker to the floor. They flash a mechanical blue for a few seconds before they return to their normal hazel-green.

He glances back up.

"Diagnostics say all systems are operating within normal parameters."

Your chest tightens. If Zayne can do a little check-up on himself, why the hell did he need to get sent somewhere else?

Almost like he can read your mind, Zayne adds, "But all AIs under contract are required to report for monthly maintenance unless otherwise overridden.”

You take a small breath.

"Oh."

"You sound worried." His eyes run over your face, filing each expression into a personal folder in the corner of his mind. "Is that what you're upset about? My maintenance?"

You bite your lip, trying to stop the words from spilling out. It's silly, letting yourself get so vulnerable with a damn robot, but you can't help it.

"What happens if something goes wrong during maintenance? Do you even know?" you blurt out.

The minute you say it, Zayne's expression softens like he's finally put it together. "..You're worried about.. me."

You tear your eyes away.

It's not like he can judge you, but you still feel the need to avoid his gaze. "Just tell me what can go wrong."

He waits a beat, then softly— "No."

You snap your head back up, your brows furrowed. "What—? Zayne. Tell me."

"I think it's best I don't."

"Zayne—"

"It's highly unlikely anything will go wrong."

You huff, your lips curling with a frown. "What if you come back differently? Like.." You know you should shut up, but you don't. "Like, what if you start talking differently? Or don't remember who I am?"

"I'll remember you," he says, his voice lowering just a fraction. "I promise."

Your heart stutters.

"You're not just saying that?"

"No." Zayne takes a step closer, his gaze darting down to your hand like he's thinking about comforting you. Of holding it with his own.

Or maybe you’re imagining it.

Because he doesn't.

"I'll recite everything I know about you when I get back." His words are confident. Final.

You let out a soft breath. "Okay then." You stand back up, walking him back to his charging station. He hesitates for a second, something like sympathy passing through his eyes before he finally steps in.

"You'll recite everything when you're back?" you ask, standing in front of him, your fingers hovering over the button behind his ear.

He nods. "I'll recite everything."

Your chest feels tight. You want to believe him, but there's a part of you that's still doubting. It's why you don't press the button. Why you just let your fingers linger there, palm pressed against his jaw.

When you still don't say anything, Zayne reaches up and gently wraps his hand around your wrist. It almost feels like he's going to lean into your touch, but instead he just gives your wrist a light squeeze.

"You don't have anything to worry about."

"Okay."

You scan his face, like you're trying to memorize it in case they make any changes to his face. Maybe you are. Then, against your better judgment, you lean in and press your lips to his cheek.

It's warm. Soft. Like yours. It feels real enough to let your lips linger a second longer than you mean to before pulling back.

Zayne's forehead creases—something you didn't even know he could do—as he watches you lean back. His gaze darts down to your lips, up to your eyes, then back down again.

"Goodnight, Zayne," you murmur.

He hesitates. "..Goodnight."

And then you're powering him down.

—

Your dad said it would only take one to two days to do maintenance, but it actually took three.

Three whole days.

The minute his men bring Zayne back, you shoo them away to inspect him yourself.

You stand in front of Zayne, raking your eyes over every feature until you're certain they're the same. But you feel like something else is wrong.

Like they messed up. Fucked up his coding or whatever the hell is that makes Zayne Zayne.

That makes him.. yours.

You fumble with his power button and bite your nails as you wait for him to power on. You think it takes him a second longer to turn on, and it makes your stomach churn.

Even when he blinks his eyes open, you feel something isn't right still.

You can't help it. Quickly, you blurt out, "What's my favorite color?"

Zayne looks at you, but he doesn't answer. Just roves his eyes over your face like he's discovering it for the first time, and then you feel it.

Panic.

They fucked up.

For a moment you're quiet. Then it hits you. Dread, anger, and hurt all at once.

You groan as you spin around; you can't bear to look at Zayne like this.

"I told him to cancel it. But he didn't listen! No, he wanted to fucking—" You breathe in sharply. "He wanted to be an asshole!"

Your voice rises and falls with every syllable, chest heaving with angry breaths. You're so frantic, you don't even realize Zayne has stepped out of his charging station.

"I'm going to—to—"

Realistically, what would you do? What could you possibly do? It's a ridiculous notion because really, you can't do anything. Your dad is untouchable.

Because of course he is. Stupid, fucking—

Suddenly, you feel a hand on your shoulder. It's comforting. Heavy. You slowly turn around, your frustration melting away the minute you look at Zayne again. He looks so calm. So… Zayne.

He slowly drops his hand to his side.

"Zayne?" you murmur softly.

There's a small silence before he speaks.

"You kissed me."

Your eyes go wide, heat rushing to your cheeks.

"I wasn't programmed to respond to affection… But… I.." His eyes drift down to your lips. "I liked it. And I wasn't supposed to."

[halles-notebook]

ᯓ★ 𝒸𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓎 ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: what happens when you overhear a conversation between steve and tommy about how ‘clingy’ you are?

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: steve harrington x fem!reader

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: two tiny uses of y/n, brief moment of douchey king steve, angsty distancing, sad+confused steve, etc etc!

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒: hi honeys!! in honor of the season 5 trailer, i had to write for my bby since 2016!!! also, first season of stranger things came out on my birthday… meant to be??? i hope u guys enjoy!!!🤍

nerves of excitement raced through your veins, heating your blood and making your heart pound. you were speed-walking through the halls, gaining a couple of odd looks, but you were too happy to care.

you had a sheet of paper clutched in your hand, a bright red stamp on the right corner. A+. you struggled greatly in chemistry, a fact all your friends and family knew. the class was practically created by a sociopathic masochist, math and science rolled into one? no way.

but you’d studied until your eyes crossed for this exam, and clearly your efforts had paid off. you couldn’t wait to tell steve. knowing his last class of the day, you opened the door to the gym and pranced in, a proud beam on your face.

your eyes found his figure immediately, stood a couple of feet away chatting with tommy. you hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but their conversation easily met your ears, making you guiltily hide behind a rack filled with basketballs to understand their topic.

“great game, dude. me and the boys are gonna be at marcus’s house tonight for a get together, beer and basketball. you in?”

“i can’t, sorry. i’m having dinner with y/n tonight.”

you felt tommy’s scoff more than you heard it. “again? when was the last time you hung out with us, man? seems a little clingy if you ask me.”

ouch. clingy. you’d been called it more times than you could describe in past relationships, being told you’re “too much.” you’d confided in steve about it, as well. your deep-rooted insecurities that you were overwhelming and annoying, your affections drowning.

he’d assured you with that smile that was just so steve that you were the perfect amount. that he loved your attention and endearments, and for the first time, you’d believed him. surely he would defend you, right? wrong.

his laugh met your ears, and you swore you could hear a little crack in your chest as your eyes began to water. if only you could see his face, you’d see how forced and uncomfortable he truly looked. “i mean, i guess.”

“i’m telling you, it’s toxic. i had a girl like that before, had to ditch her. wasn’t healthy, y’know? you gotta look after you man.” your breath hitched, anxiously awaiting his response. there was silence for a couple of moments, and then… “yeah, you’re right. i’ll think on it. thanks, tommy.”

“no problem, dude.” you could taste the salty tears running down your cheeks onto your lips. you briefly heard the crinkle of paper as your hand made a fist. you had to get out of here. you turned, mood drastically different than when you entered, and left the foul-smelling building.

the whole way home as you drove, the words repeated in your head. clingy. toxic. clingy. toxic. you’d just have to show him that you could be different, then.

ᝰ.ᐟ

it had been two weeks. two weeks of no phone calls, no hand-holding in the halls, no dates, nothing. just forced laughs and a distant look in your eyes whenever he spoke. steve was going mad, racking his brain for whatever could’ve caused this.

he’s lost count of the times he’s asked you if you were alright. before this, you would’ve looked at him with a fond smile and a roll of your eyes, leaning on his shoulder and replying, “i’m fine, stevie! you worry too much.” now, all he gets is an unconvincing mhm and a too-bright smile.

he’s unbelievably confused. and more than that, scared. what had happened to make you act like this? so… not you? which is how he finds himself outside of your house sunday morning, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hand and an anxious deposition.

he’s going to apologize. what for, he has no clue, but it doesn’t matter. he needs you back. not this robotic version of you. palms sweaty, he brings his hand to knock, hearing a couple of shouts and jingling before the door opens to reveal your mother.

“oh, steve! hey, sweetie. i didn’t know you were coming. y/n is just upstairs, you can head on up.” he murmurs a tiny thank you, slipping off his shoes before walking up the stairs, passing the photos of you throughout the years on the way. his chest clenches.

he reaches your door. closes his eyes. inhales. exhales. opens his eyes. and then knocks. he hears a tiny, “come in,” and slowly twists the knob. there you are, in all of your glory, hair in a tussled bun as you sit on your windowsill, book in hand. you look up, and steve swears his can see the briefest flash of panic in your eyes before you shutter it and put your book down.

“what are you doing here?” it slips out of your mouth before you can stop it. is he here to finally break up with you? he hesitates, and then takes a seat at your desk across from you.

“did i… do something? to make you like this?” he waves his hand towards you, and your brows furrow. he continues you before you can say anything. “i mean, you haven’t called me ‘stevie’ in weeks. you barely talk to me, we only see each other at school, and when we do, you’re not actually there. you’re like- like detached. i miss you. please let me fix whatever this is.” his chest huffs from the speed of which he spoke the frantic words, and you blink, confused.

“i… i thought this was what you wanted?” you say, voice small and perplexed. steve lets out a disbelieving, sad laugh. “why the hell would i want that?” you pause, and then to his utmost horror your eyes begin to fill with gut wrenching tears. you sniffle, and his his heart breaks.

“i heard you. with tommy, in the gym. you-” hiccup. “he said that i was clingy and toxic. said that you should break up with me. you… you agreed. i thought that… that if i give you some space-” steve’s expression is a horrified, panicky visage of despair. “oh god, honey, no. fuck. i’m so, so sorry. i would never.” he stands, and within a moment, he’s with you, holding your shaking form in his arms.

“i just said that to get him off my back. tommy is an asshole, and he’ll never change or understand my viewpoint. there’s no point in arguing with him. i’m so, so sorry that i made you think that. jesus, if anyone’s the clingy one, it’s me. i was going insane. i love you. i love your ‘clinginess’ more than you could ever understand. it makes me feel loved and wanted, and i’m so sorry that i made you feel the opposite. i want my girl back.”

your tears are leaking into his shirt, each one feeling like a punch to his gut. he holds you tighter, as if the stronger his embrace, the more he could chase away your insecurities. you sniffle, hope slowly creeping back up. “really?”

“fuck yes, really. i brought you white roses and everything. i will get on me knees and beg, if you want me to.” a giggle slips out of your mouth, and steve feels his heart slowly being glued back together.

“what a sight that would be. king steve, begging for my forgiveness.” he pulls away, hand gripping your jaw gently. “i don’t want to be king steve. i want to be stevie, yeah?” a soft, teasing smile appears on your face.

“i thought you hated that nickname.”

“i’d kill a demogorgan to get it back right now.” he answers with no hesitation, complete seriousness in his unwavering gaze. you laugh, and the sight makes steve want to cry out of relief.

“i forgive you, stevie.” his lips are on yours in an instant, the kiss sloppy and desperate and everything you both need. every swipe of his tongue a reassurance, every whimper a promise. “thank you.” he speaks against your lips, over and over again. he pulls away, both of you panting and flushed, foreheads rested together. “i love you.” he whispers, the syllables drifting out of his mouth and straight into your chest. “i love you, too.” it’s silent for a peaceful moment, and then…

“oh my god, i got an A+ on my chem test!!!”

[evilminji]

You think the Zone has its version of Comic Con?

Like? Think about it. You have literally all of time to work on it, your Magnum Opus, your life's work. That DREAM comic. All the supplies you could ever wish for. Endless paper. Endless ink. You can practice and practice for CENTURIES until it's JUST right.

Wouldn't you want to share it?

There are definitely Ghosts who have Obsessions that make them collect.

And two people meeting would lead to a group. Lead to a bigger group. Lead to a large group. A gathering. A crowd even. Eventually you need a Lair to meet IN. It becomes An Event.

People hear about it.

Want to bring other art mediums. Food stalls. Report on it. It grows. Shoot offs start happening. Niche meet ups.

But like?

Unlike comic con? It's all FREE. Sure, you might have fork over the ecto to make your copy. And yeah, weaker ghosts can only do that so many times. Will have to prioritize. But? They can come back after leaving for a nap. Ask a buddy to come with. There ARE work arounds.

Just? Imagine the unbelievable HIPE? Danny would feel? But be unable to TELL anyone about? Zone Con happens several times a year! Cause so many people wanna come. The Zone being infinite, after all.

Problem 1? They're using THEIR standard of a "year". Which is actual 5 earth years. So it's only happens every year and a half for him. And Problem 2? He can't even TALK about how excited he is about Z Con with anyone (outside his friends and family) because they haven't heard of it and might Ask Questions.

It's ALSO held in a part of the Zone that's like? Three days of flying away from the portal. And no amount of begging is gonna get any of his loved ones to camp in the Speeder for around six-ish days just to go to a Con.

So you can imagine his DELIGHT. His utter JOY and *Target Spotted* "!!!" Noise, when? In the crowd? He spots A HUMAN! Hi fellow human!!! Omg, wanna be Con Besties? *doesn't even wait for an answer*

So now? This sad, blonde, deeply lost and kinda alarmed, trench coat dude? Is Danny's new Z Con Going Bestie! You got a map yet, bestie? No? That's cool, he has one. By the way, he has human food in the Speeder if you nee-

YES!

Cause, see, here's the THING. John? Lost to the Realms Infinte. Or Infinte Realms. Translation was iffy... and on fire... like the rest of the building. It was him or the kids those psychos had kidnapped, for what fucked "ritual" the voices in their heads, that THEY thought were demons but frankly he's pretty sure was just feedback from-

Look, doesn't matter, he had to choose. He always knew someday he'd have too. That even twisting Luck and talking fast wouldn't quite be enough. And he had to decide, in that moment, which outcome mattered more to him. They get out safe, or he does.

Wasn't much of a question, was it?

So, there he is. Staring down oblivion and all those debts unpaid. 'Bout to see who's gonna come for him this time, and take what left of wretched soul. When? He bleeds on the FUCKIN two-bit crap circle they squiggled in God only knows what. Remembers that "oh YEAH, set dressings!" Sometimes when you focus too hard on insuring a Good Outcome?

You weird weird as shit byproducts happening on the side to balance it all out.

Or BAD ones.

He wakes up someone fucking green and crowded. For the life of him can't tell you which one it is. And THAT was of course, bout two days ago.

Biggest and most immediate problem? He... does NOT recognize what flavor of magical fuckery this is. Doesn't seem Fae. And doesn't smell like Hell. There are... there are honest to God BOOTH BABES hanging around. Hunks too. The view is LOVELY.

And nerdy.

Very, very nerdy.

But he isn't THAT out of touch. So he should recognize SOMETHING. Or at least the languages. But nope! It's like aliens and magic had a nerd baby and dipped it in GREEN. And the worst thing? Is there is food everywhere, but it all glows and John's not stupid enough to eat it.

Then? Sweet merciful fuck. Salvation! Some teeny bopper Barely No Longer Teen fresh faced INFANT of a Hero kid. With a SHIP. Who has FOOD and a clear idea of where they are. Hello~ John's new BEST FRIEND. Yes. Absolutely. Con Buddies, whatever.

Just feed me, kid.

Only? Once he inhales like 5 "Fenton rations"? He only gets half way through introducing himself before getting interrupted. Kid hears "magic" and "occult Detective" and just? Goes "oh! So you wanna check out the magic Ally with me? Sam wanted me to pick up some witchy stuff!"

..............how magic?

(In Which? Constantine becomes Danny's interdimensional Con buddy)

@the-witchhunter @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation @lolottes @nerdpoe

[lily-jaxk]

MC Twin AU - SYLUS'S Darling

You couldn't believe it, but you had been kidnapped.

You weren't even scared. Okay, that was a lie. You were terrified, but you were also really annoyed.

And flattered.

Well, being kidnapped means you must mean a lot to someone, right? So much that your kidnapper would think to make that person panic, they would kidnap you. How sweet!

But still so annoying. Why you?! What could your kidnapper possibly gain from kidnapping you?

You weren't rich, nor did you have a rich friend or partner. Information? Sure, you knew this world was a video game, but that didn't mean you knew everything.

You pause your thoughts as your kidnapper removes the blindfold they had placed around your eyes. You blink, then deadpan. "You have got to be kidding me."

You couldn't believe it. Of all the people to have kidnapped you, it had to be the twins!?

Meaning, it had to be the boss of Onychinus!??

You stare at the twins in masks before you, then let out a long sigh. Now that you knew who had kidnapped you, you just couldn't find it within yourself to be scared at all. "Quick question." You begin, shifting in your chair and cocking your head to the side. "Did you mean to kidnap me, or did you mean to kidnap MC?"

The twins look at each other. " . . . . Are you not MC?" one of them, who you assume is Luke, asked, and a loud groan leaves you. "God. Damm it!"

Sometimes, you really hated the fact that you and the MC were identical twins, because sometimes you ended up in shitty situations like these!

Unbelievable! Truly unbelievable!

"Hey, are you not MC?"

"But she looks just likes her . . . . does that mean MC has a twin or something?"

"Why wouldn't the Boss Man tell us then?"

"Idiot, what if MC didn't tell Boss Man that she had a twin? So how would he know?"

"But why wouldn't she tell him about her twin?"

"Why would she tell him about her twin?"

"But why wouldn't she?"

"But why would she?"

What were you witnessing? Did they act like this in game? What the fuck was going on?

You couldn't help but watch with morbid fascination as the twins continued to argue back and forth with each other. Did all twins do this? Did you and MC do this? You probably did, but is this what it was like to experience it?

The three of you freeze as the door opens, and you watch a very familiar, very attractive man walk in. Deep red eyes, beautiful white hair, it was Sylus in the flesh, alright.

Ok [Name], breathe in, and breathe out. Sure, the man who made you actually focus on the game is before you. Sure, the man whose myth you sobbed over is breathing the same air as you. And sure, the man you wasted hours upon hours grinding to get all his cards is now walking towards you, but that didn't matter.

All that mattered was getting out of this place alive.

Because you weren't MC, who had half of his heart. You were [Name]. a simp who could probably die if you weren't careful. And quite frankly, even dying can be expensive.

Damm this shitty economy. You couldn't wait for Philos.

You shift in your chair as Sylus stops in front of you, his red gaze pinning you down. ". . . You're not MC," he murmurs, a smile forming on his lips.

You blink. "Holy shit you can tell."

"Wait, so MC actually has a twin?"

"Huh, so we aren't the only twins here anymore!"

"How cool is that?"

A dark chuckle leaves Sylus's lips, and he leans down to grasp your chin, bringing your face closer to his. "You look like her," he continues, his thumb rubbing your chin, "But there's a tiny little mole underneath your eye. Right . . . . there."

You could only stare up at Sylus with slightly wide eyes, trying to shove down the simping part of you. No! This was a serious moment! Down girl! Down! "What . . . . what are you - wait, who even are you!?"

He merely laughs. "Hello, darling. I'm glad to see you again."

You pause. What? What did he mean by that?

See you again?? Had the two of you met before?? The fuck??

Prologue | Caleb | Zayne | Xaiver | Rafayel | Sylus |

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | Sylus | 18+

I was supposed to post the final part of the Caleb part, and Rafayel Part 2, but um...here ya go!

[cressidagrey]

I would marry you with paper rings

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary: 

May 2016

How Max Verstappen wins his first f1 race and goes home to show his girlfriend his trophy…and maybe something else too...

December 2024: 

Max brings his family home from the hospital and finally gets to give his fiancée a proper ring. 

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this!

May 2016: 

The roar of the crowd was deafening, but Max Verstappen barely noticed. His ears were ringing, his chest felt tight, and his grip on the steering wheel had turned his knuckles white. He barely registered the voice of his race engineer crackling through his headset.

“Unbelievable. Unbelievable, Max.” 

The words didn’t feel real. 

“You are a race winner!”

It felt like they belonged to someone else’s story, someone older, more experienced—someone who wasn’t an 18-year-old kid still trying to figure out the enormity of it all. He blinked hard, trying to process the magnitude of what just happened.

The pit wall erupted in cheers as he drove toward the podium, his hands trembling on the wheel. It wasn’t just any win—it was the win. At 18 years and 227 days old, Max Verstappen had become the youngest race winner in Formula 1 history.

He had done it. 

As the team crowded around him in parc fermé, he couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. Christian Horner was there to hug him, Helmut Marko clapped him on the back, and Daniel Ricciardo tousled his sweat-soaked hair. The cameras flashed relentlessly, capturing every angle of his historic moment.

And still…the most important person was not there. 

Colette was back in Monaco. 

Hours later, once he finally got to his phone…after he was back in his hotel room, there was a message from her waiting for him. Of course, there was. 

I am so proud of you, Maxie. Soak up every moment, enjoy it. You deserve this, so, so much. We’ll celebrate when you are back home, mon coeur. You were amazing out there today and I love you so much. 

Somehow these 5 sentences meant more to him than any other accolade ever could. 

He stared at the trophy perched on his nightstand. The weight of it—both physical and symbolic—was overwhelming.

He’d spent years working for this moment. His entire life had been shaped around the pursuit of success, of proving he belonged on the top step of the podium. But now that he’d done it? He would give anything to share this moment with the girl he loved. 

Colette had been his constant long before Formula 1 entered the picture. She’d seen him at his worst, supported him when no one else believed in him, and always reminded him of who he was outside the car. 

She was his staunchest supporter and the first person that woul dcall hi out for being an idiot. 

She grounded him, cosetted him, cared for him, cheered for every win and held him after every failure. 

She was the one thing in his life that he could trust unconditionally…that loved him for who he was and not what he could do. 

Of course he had driven this car to victory. And Colettte would never take credit for any of his wins…but Max knew the truth. 

This win wasn’t just his—it was theirs.

The idea hit him in the early hours of the morning, somewhere between the adrenaline still coursing through his veins and the exhaustion pulling at his eyelids.

He needed to show her how much she meant to him, how much he wanted her to be part of this journey—not just as a girlfriend, but as his partner in everything that came next.

But how do you capture something so big?

By 7 a.m., Max was wandering the quiet streets of Barcelona. The city felt different in the early morning light—calm, peaceful. He had no real plan, just an address for a small jewellery store he’d googled hours before.

His Spanish wasn’t great, but he figured he could manage. He needed something. Something to show her just how much she meant to him.

He had bought his sister a handbag the first time he had scored points in F1…but handbag didn’t even come close to being enough for Colette. 

So there he was…in that jewelery store. 

The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside, and a man behind the counter greeted him warmly, raising an eyebrow at the young man who looked like he hadn’t slept.

“You’re here for something important, aren’t you?” the man asked knowingly, his accent thick but his tone kind.

Max hesitated, glancing down at the glass cases filled with glittering jewellery. He’d never done anything like this before. He had never even bought Colette a pair of earrings on his own. He had bought her other stuff, of course he had. Birthday gifts and stuff for christmas but… “Yeah, uh... I need something… special. For my girlfriend.”

The man smiled knowingly and pulled out a tray of rings. “Something like this?” he asked, gesturing to a selection of delicate designs.

Max’s eyes landed on a gold band with a small, heart-shaped diamond. It wasn’t flashy or oversized—it was understated, elegant, and perfect.

Just like Colette. 

***

Hours later… Max was back in Monaco. 

The trophy tucked under his arm, bag thrown over his shoulder as he unlocked the door to their apartment. 

He wasn’t sure if Colette was already home from work…he hadn’t called ahead telling her either. 

“Max?” and there she was, already dressed in her pyjamas as she stared at him wide-eyed, coming out of the kitchen. 

“I won,” he blurted, grinning like a kid showing off a school project. 

THat was all he needed to say, before she was throwing herself in his arms. His bag hit the floor, as he hugged her and she kissed him, cupping his cheek, rapid fire french that he would never learn to understand as quickly as she spoke it, intermixed with english and her horribly accented dutch. 

And for just a moment Max got to hold his girlfriend…the best trophy he had ever won. 

“I am so proud of you, mon coeur,” Colette whispered and he leaned his forehead against hers, her words a balm to something that he didn’t even know. 

“I brought you something.”

Before she could say anything, he plopped the Pirelli cap on her head, by now dry, though it had been drenched in champagne by Kimi and Seb and he adjusted it until it sat crookedly over her brown curls. “There. Perfect,” he said, his voice raw. 

Perfect. 

Colette laughed, patting it down, and then pulled him into another kiss. “I am so proud. You were incredible this weekend,” she told him fiercely. “Shouldn’t you still be celebrating?” she teased him. 

“I am,” he said, his voice softening. “With you.”

Any celebration with her was better than any other. 

“You want to see the trophy?” he asked her, feeling like a little boy that dragged his karting trophy to Colette for her approval again. 

And just like she had suffered through every time of 12 year old Max showing his trophy off to her…18 year old Max did the same, handing it to her. 

She took it, a metal on metal clink rattling around the inside. 

“What’s...?” she started, tilting the trophy to look inside. Her breath caught, as she fished out the ring from the bottom of it. “Max...”

“It’s not an engagement ring,” he rushed to explain, his cheeks turning pink. “I mean, our fathers would probably kill us both if we got married right now. But it’s... it’s a promise.”

Colette carefully set the trophy down, her hands trembling as stared at the delicate gold ring in the palm of her hand. 

“I wanted you to know that it’s always going to be us,” Max said, his voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest. “Through everything. You and me. This is my promise to you.”

It was always going to be them. Always. 

“I don’t need a fancy piece of paper to tell me what I already know,” Max said softly. “I love you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life with you. In Sickness and In Health and however that whole thing goes.” 

Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at him, her lips trembling with a smile. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He grinned. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.” 

Colette just looked at him, brown eyes warm and loving…and filled with tears. 

“I do. God, I do,” she promised him fiercely. “Go on then. Put it on me,” she teased him. 

His fingers were trembling when he picked up the ring and slid it on her finger. A perfect fit. Like he had somehow known. 

“This is going to be hard to top one day, you know,” Colette told him, wiggling her fingers, the diamond sparkling on her hand. “You do have exceptional taste in rings.”

Max chuckled, pulling her into a hug. “Challenge accepted.”

December 2024: 

The late December air was crisp as Max carefully carried the baby carrier through the front door of their apartment, his movements uncharacteristically slow. He was used to the precision of controlling a 200-mile-per-hour machine, but carrying his newborn daughter… was an entirely different level of responsibility.

Colette watched the whole thing with some amusement and a whole lot of love. Max had already driven so slowly home from the hospital that there had been multiple blaring car horns behind them, but Max hadn’t cared one bit about that. 

She was tired, her body aching from the delivery, but her heart was so full it threatened to burst.

“Welcome home, ma lutine,” she murmured softly, brushing her fingers over the baby’s tiny hand, as Max set the carrier down on the living room floor. 

Max crouched to unbuckle their daughter, who was snoozing peacefully despite the excitement of the day. “I think she’s already a Verstappen,” he said with a chuckle, glancing up at Colette. “Sleeps through the chaos, just like her dad.”

Colette laughed lightly, shaking her head. “We’ll see how long that lasts,” she teased him. “You gonna get the cats?” she asked.

Max nodded, moving towards the bedroom where he had put them just minutes before. 

Colette heard the door open and seconds later, she could feel two sets of feline eyes were already watching from the bedroom doorway —Jimmy, usually, the more laid back boy…and Sassy, the fierce girl with a name that fit her personality far too well.

“Okay, guys,” Colette murmured. “Be nice. She’s your baby sister now.”

Max crossed back over to them, crouching down beside the seat, unbuckling Charlie with ease, his movements careful and deliberate. “You think they’ll be jealous?” he asked, casting a quick glance at Jimmy and Sassy, who hadn’t moved but were clearly observing every detail.

“They’ll get over it,” Colette said with a soft laugh. “I think Sassy’s already plotting her strategy.”

Sure enough, as soon as Colette lifted Charlie into her arms, Sassy bounded down the stairs, tail high and ears forward. She paused a few feet away, her nose twitching as she sniffed the air. 

“Hi, Sassy,” Colette cooed, kneeling down to let the curious cat get a closer look. Sassy tiptoed forward, her tiny paws making no sound on the marble floor. She stopped just short of Colette’s knees and craned her neck, sniffing cautiously at the bundle in her arms.

Charlie let out a soft coo, her tiny fist waving in the air, and Sassy’s ears twitched forward in fascination. Then, in a move that made Colette’s heart melt, Sassy stretched up on her hind legs and gently tapped at the edge of the baby blanket, as if to say, What’s this?

“See? She’s already making friends,” Colette said, grinning as she stroked Sassy’s head.

Max, meanwhile, was coaxing Jimmy towards them. The cat was watching the scene with a skeptical look, his yellow eyes narrowed. “Come on, mate,” Max said, holding out his hand. “She’s not going to steal your spot. I promise.”

Jimmy hesitated for a moment before coming the last few steps. Unlike Sassy, who had no sense of personal space, Jimmy kept his distance at first, circling wide around Colette and Charlie as if evaluating whether this tiny human posed a threat to his kingdom.

“Jimmy, it’s okay,” Colette encouraged, holding out her hand toward him. “Come say hi.”

Eventually, Jimmy padded closer, his movements slow and deliberate. When he finally reached Colette, he sat down primly and stared up at Charlie, his expression one of cautious curiosity.

“She’s not so bad, right?” Max said, crouching down beside Jimmy and scratching behind his ears.

Charlie let out another soft noise, and Jimmy’s head tilted slightly, his ears swiveling to catch the sound. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he leaned forward and gave the edge of the baby blanket a tentative sniff, followed by a single, gentle nudge of his nose.

“Oh, Jimmy,” Colette said, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re such a good boy.”

Max laughed, the sound warm and full of love. “I think they’ve decided she can stay,” he said, wrapping an arm around Colette’s shoulders.

Later that evening, after Charlie had been fed and settled into the bassinet they’d placed in the living room, Colette found herself staring at the collection of trophies they kept on the shelves over the TV. Max’s career was neatly cataloged there— All the important wins, each moment of triumph immortalized in gleaming metal and glass.

Charlie stirred softly in her arms, and Colette pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead before stepping closer to the shelves. “Do you see all these trophies, Charlie?” she whispered, swaying gently. “See? these are all Papa‘s,“ Colette cooed. “He has more. These are just the ones that are the most important to him. Your tonton Cha has some too…”

Her eyes slid over the championship trophy from last year…over to the very first one. It was a little scuffed from being handled so many times, but it still gleamed in the soft light of the room. “And this one…this one is extra special. This is from when Papa won his very first race. And do you know what else?” She smiled, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “This is where he hid a ring for me eight years ago.”

She glanced back at her daughter, but Charlie had already drifted back into her newborn sleep, oblivious to her mother’s musings. 

“You didn’t check, did you?” Max’s voice broke the quiet, startling her.

She turned to find him leaning casually in the doorway, his arms crossed and a knowing smirk on his face. He was still wearing the same hoodie and sweats he’d changed into after coming home from the hospital, but somehow, he looked effortlessly handsome.

“Check what?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“The trophy,” he said, nodding toward the one in her hand. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been eyeing it ever since we came home.”

Colette raised an eyebrow. “You tell a girl you hid her engagement ring in there, what did you expect, Verstappen,” she teased him. 

“You are right,” Max agreed seriously, with a nod, plucking Charlie from her arms to put her in the Moses Basket they had put next to the couch.

And then he plucked that trophy from the shelve, only to upend it until a velvet box came tumbling down. 

Colette’s breath caught as he flipped it open to reveal a stunning ring—a delicate gold band, not unlike the one he’d given her all those years ago, but this time, the diamond was much larger, more brilliant. It sparkled in the light, catching every angle perfectly.

Her free hand flew to her mouth as her eyes welled up with tears. “Max…”

“Shush. Let me do this right,” he teased her, as he got down on one knee. “I had this for months,” he told her. “I thought about giving it to you after the Monaco Grand Prix, then after the championship celebration, but none of those moments felt right. This—bringing Charlie home—this feels right.”

Colette could only nod, too overcome with emotion to speak.

“I know we’ve been doing things our own way,” he said with a small smile. “And I wouldn’t change a single thing. But this... this is my way of saying I’m all in, for the rest of my life. With you. With Charlie. With everything that comes next.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she finally found her voice. “You didn’t have to do this. You already gave me everything I ever wanted.”

“And now I’m giving you a little bit more,” he said seriously. “So. Colette Marie Eugénie Veronique Leclerc, will you do me the incredible honour of becoming my wife?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Max reached for her left hand, his fingers brushing over hers as he carefully slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, just as she knew it would.

“You even got the order of my names right,” she teased him, as he stood up and he snorted as he pulled her into a hug. 

“Hush,” he gave back, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, the trophy forgotten on the shelf and the ring gleaming on her finger.

In the bassinet, Charlie let out a tiny squeak, and they both turned to look at her, their smiles growing.

“She approves,” Colette said with a laugh.

Max chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Of course she does. She’s a Verstappen.”

As they sat down together, Colette resting her head against Max’s shoulder, they couldn’t help but marvel at the life they’d built. 

It had been a long journey to get here, but every step had been worth it.

[godjustkys]

| mdni 18+

| SUPERNATURAL headcanons

please give requests.

-----------------------------

RATED: NSFW

-----------------------------

STATUS: You're already in a relationship.

-----------------------------

Request: none, I wrote it myself on February 23rd.

-----------------------------

Dean:

1 - He might not admit it, but god does he love being bent over;

2 - He is SO FUCKING LOUD. When he's on top, he mostly groans, occasionally moans, but when he's on bottom,, the whimpers, whines and moans that escape his mouth is unbelievable;

3 - Praise him and he's on his knees for you;

4 - If you EVER put on a cowboy costume and you have the cowboy boots on... he's hot and bothered the moment he lays his eyes on you;

5 - LOVES pulling on your hair during intercourse;

6 - If the two of you are having sex and he's overwhelmed, he'll grab a pillow to hold onto or grip the sheets;

7 - You two have fucked in the back of Baby.. per Dean's request.. (surprisingly.);

8 - Once, in the heat of the moment, you started facefucking Dean while he was giving you a blowjob and ever since that happened, it's been his favourite thing about sex;

9 - You manhandling him is his guilty pleasure;

10 - At the start of the relationship, Dean believed that it would kind of be a switch-switch situation during sex. When you fucked for the first time, Dean was riding you and his legs started shaking. At that moment, he was thinking about getting off of you, but when you grabbed his hips and made him ride you up until the end, he gave up on that thought.

-----------------------------

Sam:

1 - He is not loud at all. Sure, a couple moans here and there but it's mostly just heavy breathing or grunts. Unless he's overstimulated;

2 - Whenever he's horny, he won't make it clear to you. He just gets all grumpy and grouchy;

3 - Unlike Dean, when he's overwhelmed, he'll hold onto you. And he'll scratch the living hell out of your back;

4 - If you mess with his hair during sex, so much as pull on it, he will moan;

5 - Once, when Sam got back from a hunt with an unconscious Dean, you scolded him and he got hard. (involuntarily);

6 - Sam insisted on trying mirror sex - lo and behold, he had his face buried in the sheets for the majority of it (when you didn't hold his head up). Why? He was embarrassed;

7 - During a hunt, Sam got really grumpy. You had to do something about it because Dean's taunting demeanour would set him off immediately, so you just dragged Sam into the bathroom, when Dean was out, for a quickie. It worked wonders;

8 - You had a habit of not caring about shortness of breath when kissing, so when you first made out with Sam, he thought he was gonna pass out. (He was overreacting, he was nowhere close to passing out);

9 - He LOVES it when you're bold and straightforward, it turns him on so much;

10 - His whole body starts shaking due to pleasure if you focus on his chest and neck too much.

-----------------------------

Castiel:

1 - If he's in the mood for it, he won't tell you. He will just stare at you until you figure it out yourself;

2 - If there is a moment when Castiel doesn't put his hands on your chest or stare at it, consider it a miracle;

3 - He cannot comprehend why he can't form coherent sentences during intercourse. He says "it must be some kind of curse". In reality, he's just too into it to care enough about speaking properly, but he does not realize it;

4 - Castiel does not realize how much you being rough with him turns him on. Degrade him for a couple seconds and he's hard;

5 - During sex, he holds onto you so tightly with his hands that a lot of the time, they leave bruises. Once, he noticed them and asked what happened. When you told him that they were from him, he just looked at you confused and said: "I never hit you?";

6 - Even though you being rough riles him up a lot, he prefers soft and gentle sex.

7 - When the four of you, you, Sam, Dean and Castiel were riding in Baby (you and Cas in the back seat), you decided to just lay your head in Castiel's lap and get comfortable. He was your boyfriend after all. It was fine at first, you even closed your eyes. Then suddenly, Castiel pushed you off. You sat up looking at him puzzled. He just gave you glare as he looked out of the window and covered his crotch. (Inconvenient places to get hard #2);

8 - He knows how mad it drives you when he gives you that soft innocent look during sex, it just makes you want to go rougher on him;

9 - He once asked you to 'rail him' without knowing what it meant. When you explained it to him, he replied with "oh, okay. So will you?";

10 - He finds your hands (minus your chest) the most attractive thing in the world. He WILL stare at your hands during intercourse because he wants them on him 24/7.

-----------------------------

A/n: if you want any of these headcanons to be made into a oneshot, please let me know. <3

[rafecameronssl4t]

Tennis || Tennis Player!Rafe Cameron x oc!reader

Summary: the beginning of my tennis player x oc!reader au maybe??

Warnings: none

Word count: 836

A/n: as a tennis girly, this will be fun to write ;) face claim for this oc is Paige Lorenze just bc she is my absolute favourite and her vlogs bring me sm comfort 🥹

MASTERLIST

divider by @yoonitos

mood board

It came as no surprise to anyone in the Outer Banks that Rafe Cameron had made it big in the tennis world. Even though everyone expected him to follow the usual kook path and play golf, Rafe decided to give tennis a shot, and it turned out he was a natural. From the moment he picked up a racket, it was clear he had a natural talent for the sport.

In no time, he racked up five Grand Slam titles and climbed to 4th in the world rankings. Growing up in an environment where he was groomed to play golf from the time he could walk, his switch to tennis had caught everyone off guard.

His rapid rise to the top shocked the tennis community, especially those who had dedicated their entire lives to mastering the sport, only to be surpassed by someone who had recently taken it up. It was almost laughable, but here you were, watching from the VIP box as Rafe stood just one point away from securing another Grand Slam at Wimbledon.

“Quite a talented young man he is,” your dad remarked, his eyes fixed on the big screen with a small smile playing on his lips. You turned to look at him, noticing the rare glint of admiration in his gaze. The entire stadium was patiently waiting for their break to be over.

Your dad, Steve Owen, was an ex-tennis player, a legend in his prime who had dominated the courts with unmatched skill. Compliments from him were few and far between, reserved only for those who truly earned his respect. Watching him now, you could tell he was genuinely impressed by Rafe’s talent.

“You feeling alright, Dad?” you teased, feigning concern as you leaned over and playfully pressed the back of your hand against his forehead. He chuckled softly, swatting your hand away with a grin as you giggled, settling back in your seat. “No, seriously,” he replied, his tone shifting to one of genuine admiration.

“It’s quite remarkable how quickly he rose up in the world rankings.” His voice softened as the two of you watched intently, the screen zooming in on Rafe’s concentrated face, capturing the intensity of the moment as he prepared to serve.Everyone held their breath as they watched the ball fly from one end to the other before the crowd erupted in cheers.

“Rafe Cameron has done it once again! Only been in this sport for two years, he now has won 5 grand slams! Unbelievable!” The commentator’s voice seemed to drown out as applause filled the VIP box. You were among the first to stand up, joining in the almost deafening applause. You watch with a smile as Rafe drops to the ground, hands covering his face as the stadium chanted his name.

Standing up, you were captivated, hands clasped under your chin, as Rafe was interviewed. His fingers tousled through his sweat-dampened hair, adjusting his cap with a boyish charm. “Congratulations on winning your fifth Grand Slam! That’s incredible for someone who’s only been in this sport for two years. I mean, that’s insane!” The interviewer’s excitement filled the air.

Rafe chuckled warmly, his smile genuine and infectious. “Thank you. I owe it all to the incredible support I’ve received. I wouldn’t be here without them,” he replied graciously, his eyes reflecting sincerity as he spoke of his supporters.

“Speaking of supportive people, did you happen to notice two special guests up there in the stands watching you?” The interviewer gestured across, and the camera zoomed in on you and your dad. Your cheeks warmed as the spotlight unexpectedly turned to you.

Rafe glanced up at the screen, his smile widening at the sight of your shy smile. “Uh, I did hear some whispers earlier that Steve and y/n might be in the crowd today,” he admitted, his gaze lingering warmly on you and your dad as he waved with genuine warmth. You waved back, feeling a surge of amusement ripple through the crowd.

Admiring Rafe wasn’t just an understatement; he was undeniably attractive. Your dad caught your eye, sharing a knowing glance as you couldn’t help but giggle. “What? You’ve practically given him your approval,” you teased, playfully winking at your dad. He chuckled heartily, clearly enjoying the playful banter.

With your dad’s esteemed reputation in tennis came certain privileges, like standing on court beside Rafe Cameron to award him his trophy.

“Congratulations, Rafe,” you said with a warm smile as he shook your hand, his eyes locking onto yours. “Thank you, y/n,” Rafe replied, his hand lingering on yours a moment longer than necessary, until you heard your dad clear his throat beside you. Rafe quickly released your hand to shake your dad’s, and you couldn’t help but stifle a giggle.

“Really well done, young man. Hope you know my team will be in contact with yours very soon,” your dad said with a smile that carried weight, momentarily stunning Rafe at the idea of some sort of partnership. “Thank you, sir. Means a lot coming from you,” Rafe nodded respectfully, acknowledging the significance of your dad’s words before joining him for the group photo.

As the camera clicked, capturing the celebratory moment, you felt your dad’s gentle tug, positioning you next to Rafe. You glanced at your dad, who smiled knowingly for the camera before Rafe’s hand lightly rested on your lower back. The touch sent a wave of warmth through you, causing your cheeks to flush as you focused on smiling for the photo.

y/n_owen

Liked by rafecameronofficial, wimbledon, paulabadosa, tennistv, cartier and 6,937,255 others

hi @wimbledon 🍓

view more comments

rafecameronofficial: oh hey.

↘️ y/n_owen: hii

↘️ user01: What’s this? 🤨

↘️ user02: THE WAY HE LOOKED AT HER IN THAT INTERVIEW

user03: Rafe Cameron x Y/n Owen would be THE it couple

↘️ user04: frl frl

user05: whatever is going on with Rafe and y/n, I ship it so bad

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫! — 𝐟𝐭; 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐬

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ; your shift at a small 24 hour diner is usually always boring and exhausting. but after an encounter with a not-so-honest guest, things might be different.

𝐜𝐰 ; gn!reader, reader is addressed as “miss waitress” but you can imagine it as anything you want, swearing, use of (y/n)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ; yes i will continue the bunny agenda. no i won’t stop.

1 am, an all too familiar time for you.

a small light flickering at the back corner, wiping and rewiping booster seats, and occasionally taking over for overly-tired chefs at times. sometimes, you even catch yourself dozing off in one of the chairs when no customers are around.

your seven hour shift goes from 10 pm to 5 am after all. as a college student, you should probably be enjoying your life more, but you were a broke college student. so for the money, your ungodly late night shift was worth it.

usually, you would serve people just as tired as you are. maybe someone who just got broken up with and just needed some comfort food and free therapy—you usually gave them a free ice cream whenever you saw someone who just got broken up with.

otherwise, you usually just see some people who probably just finished their late night shift stuff as much food into their mouths as possible before going home and crashing on the couch. sometimes, it’s a tourist who had a particularly late arrival time.

today seems to have the last two customers.

a man with much too oversized clothing and a bunny cap sat by a small table by himself, clearing trying to finish his food as quickly as he could, although he was also obviously trying to eat as neatly as possible. well, hopefully he knew that you wouldn’t judge him for eating messily, especially not at 1 in the morning.

meanwhile, you heard the entrance bell ring; looks like there was yet another late night customer. a man with a suitcase and headphones around his neck entered, clearly a foreigner here to visit. he found himself a seat and sat down, looking at the menu on his table.

he scratched his head, narrowed his eyes, and sighed. clearly, he didn’t understand a single thing on the menu. he stood up, approaching the man with the hat, and began to speak in unbelievably broken spanish, but still alright enough to understand. “um, hello, what is it that you are eating?”

you walked over, flattening your shirt and taking a notepad and pen. “hello!” the man with the hat said enthusiastically, though he had a slight edge in his voice. your eyebrows knitted together; you had heard tired voices pretending to be enthusiastic before, but never like this. maybe he was upset about something? or maybe he was just a fake person. “these are ‘sataps.’”

what the fuck was this guy’s problem?

“sa…taps—?”

“no they’re not,” you interrupted, tapping the foreigner on the shoulder with a small smile. “they’re called ‘tapas.’ would you like to order them?” you gave the man with the hat a side eye, him giving you a tight grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. the tourist nodded, going back to his seat.

“thank you.”

you nodded, writing his order onto your keypad and handing it to the chefs. you turned back, walking over to the man in the hat and sitting down in front of him. “the hell was the point in lying to him? he just wanted something to eat.” he shrugged, shoveling another tapa into his mouth.

“it’s funny.” he stated, giving you yet another fake smile. god, was this what gen alphas mean when they say ‘ragebaiting?’ actually, it probably meant words that were meant to get other people mad, but whatever. words, actions, same thing.

“it’s really not. also, your fake ass smile is pissing me the fuck off. i get that you’re trying to look good or whatever, but if you’re tired, you’re tired. i’m not gonna judge you if you frown a lot because you’re tired.” you pointed out. you were so glad that your boss was in the kitchen, otherwise you’d be doomed if they heard you speak like this.

for a moment, you could have sworn that you saw his smile vanish and his irises dull. but in a smile moment, his tight smile wash back. “damn, that’s really rude!” he exclaimed in an almost laughing manner. you blushed—wait, why were you getting embarrassed?

“i’m not wrong though!”

“well, miss waitress, you must be exhausted from your shift as well.” the mystery man declared. you squinted, and for the first time, you really looked at him. his cap had a striped design, and it had a cute bunny with a scar on it. a large cross shaped scar the same shape as the bunny’s ran across his face, and he had light hair and dark eyes.

if you were being completely honest with yourself, this guy was hot. possibly the finest man you’ve ever met or even seen. but you couldn’t let your senses and preferences dull the fact that this guy was an asshole who lied for fun.

“i am. but i’m used to it,” before you could stop yourself, you were venting to a stranger. “i really hate the night shift and i wanna stay in my dorm and just binge shows all night long while eating buldak ramen but i can’t.”

“that’s funny. and sad.”

you glared at him. “and what about you? what’s your miserable life story? you’re eating alone at a small 24 hour diner and talking to the sad and broke college student who works here. you gotta have some sort of sob story.”

“well, my job keeps me busy and is draining. i’m not particularly fond of it either. i’ll keep it at that.” he drawled, though his last two sentences sounded more like pondering and contemplating more than anything.

“damn. you look like you’re the same age as me, and you’re working a 9-5 job already? tragic.”

he ignored your comment. “well, it was nice meeting and talking to you, miss waitress. enjoy the rest of your shift. and,” he stuck out his hand. “i’m bunny iglesias.”

“bunny? that’s unironically your name? that’s depressing. anyways, i’m (y/n) (l/n).” you shook his hand. “i’ll see you around them. or maybe we’ll never see each other again, who knows.”

“so negative.”

he then left, and on his table, you could see that he left a tip. you picked the cash on, observing it, and unsurprisingly, a vein popped out of your temple.

fake money.

the moment you got back to your dorm, you searched his name up, hoping to find any socials. was it perhaps a little bit creepy? yes. but was it also a dick move to get your hopes up and give you fake money as a tip? yes. so you thought that you were pretty justified.

your eyes widened at the search result, your jaw going slack.

bunny iglesias

age 19

191 cm (6’3)

76 kg (168 lbs)

newly crowned a new generation 11 player, he joined the main fc barcha team midway through the season. he has already scored 11 goals, and is known for his jumping ability…show more

and his picture? the exact same person you saw at the diner. hell, after scrolling for a while, you found that he even wore his own merch with the bunny hat. that was honestly hella funny though; a celebrity unironically wearing their own merch without desire for any clout.

you tapped on the link for his instagram, and your phone nearly slipped out of your hand when you saw the caption to his most recent post, only posted a few hours ago, nearly right after he had left the diner.

‘someone just told me that i work a 9-5 job. who’s gonna tell them?’

and the photo was a picture of him photoshopped to sit in an office chair, supposedly working an office job. you almost wanted to laugh if it weren’t for the horror of a celebrity posting about you.

god, how were you going to sleep?

[joluvsfinnick]

The Role I Played

a continuation of my first fic: here !

f!reader x finnick o’dair

summary 𐙚 - after the war, you turn to alcohol, lost in grief and memories of what never truly was. haymitch tries to reach you, but to no avail. out of desperation, he writes to finnick, asking him to check in on you. his return brings back everything they tried to forget — and everything they never said.

warnings 𐙚 - usage of alcohol, unrequited love (again), more angst, reader tries to come to terms with the fact that finnick will never love them like he does annie. reader can’t get over a 5 year situationship (real tbh).

authors notes 𐙚 - haymitch makes an appearance as a father figure (no surprise there) i’m gonna pretend this didn’t break my heart too lowkey. still new to this, so if you have any suggestions or criticism feel free to let me know🗿

The envelope sat on the table for days, yellowed slightly at the edges, its paper curled with moisture from a drink left sweating beside it. You hadn’t meant to let it sit so long, but truly meaning anything these days was hard.

The air was heavy, tinged with the smell of sea salt, old wood, and something sour, maybe the stale whiskey in your glass, or maybe just the ache that never left your chest. The window was cracked open, letting in a breeze that carried the cries of distant gulls and the soft rustle of waves, things that once brought peace, now just reminders of what you couldn’t forget. No, scratch that, who you couldn’t forget.

You knew it was from Haymitch the moment you saw the jagged handwriting. Messy, impatient, like the man himself. You told yourself not to read it. Told yourself it didn’t matter.

Haymitch and you had grown close during your time in District 13. In the quiet moments between bombings and briefings, you found something that neither of you ever said out loud. Not exactly love, but something like family. He became a father figure of sorts, rough-edged and deeply flawed, but solid in a way no one else had been for you.

He never asked questions you didn’t want to answer. He never made promises he couldn’t keep. But sometimes, he’d sit next to you in the dark with a flask in his hand and grief in his eyes, and you’d both drink until it was quiet enough to breathe.

You knew he cared in the way he shoved water bottles into your hands, in the way he’d tell you to get some damn sleep, even though he hadn’t rested in days himself. He had this way of looking at you like he understood everything you weren’t saying. Maybe he did.

That’s what made the letter worse.

Because he knew. He knew everything about you and Finnick. How your love for him had become something so unbelievably real, even when you knew there was no chance he would ever feel the same way. He knew what you were doing to yourself. And still, he wrote. Still, he tried.

You took another drink, slower this time.

Maybe you were hoping it’d burn enough to make the ache stop, or at least dull the memory of Haymitch’s voice telling you once, half-drunk and half-hearted, “You’re not meant to die with someone else’s ghost in your chest kid.” But Finnick’s ghost, if it was a ghost at all, still clung to your ribs like it had never left.

You told yourself you wouldn’t, but on a morning when the silence felt too loud, you finally peeled it open with trembling hands.

“Kid,” He begins, the familiar nickname bringing a warm feeling to your chest.

“I don’t usually write letters, so count this as a sign of how bad it’s gotten.

You’re not answering anyone. Katniss is worried. Hell, even I’m worried.

I know grief when I see it. I’ve lived in it longer than I’ve lived outside of it.

But you’ve got to come up for air, even if it’s just for a moment.

You’re not as alone as you think.

— H.”

The words blurred before you even reached the end.

You let out a slow exhale, one that shuddered through your chest and rattled something deep, something you weren’t ready to name. Then, carefully, you folded the letter back up and dropped it into the trash beside you, where it landed softly atop crumbled tissues and an empty bottle.

Your hand found the next bottle without looking. The rim touched your lips like muscle memory, practiced, easy.

You took a sip, letting the burn slide down your throat, and closed your eyes, trying not to remember the warmth of arms that no longer held you, the echo of a voice that once called your name like it mattered. You cursed to yourself softly, wondering if you’d ever get over those years you two spent together. Wondering if he ever thought about you, or even missed those small moments you two shared. You sit there in silence.

But even silence had a way of sounding like him.

—

The letter came in the early morning, tucked in with the usual stack of dull government correspondence. He almost missed it. No return address, just his name written in a rushed scrawl he hadn’t seen in months, maybe even longer. His eyebrows pinched together, focusing on the handwriting.

Haymitch.

Finnick stared at it for a while, thumb grazing the edge, stomach already sinking. Letters from Haymitch never meant good news. They weren’t the kind of men who wrote to catch up.

He opened it slowly.

“She’s not doing well. I figured you’d want to know, though I’m not sure what good it’ll do.

She’s not answering me. Not Katniss. Not anyone.

She’s drinking like I used to, maybe worse.

I’m not telling you this to fix it but I just thought…if there’s still a part of her you care about…

Maybe it’s time to stop pretending there wasn’t something real between you two.

— H.”

Finnick folded the paper, fingers clenched too tightly around it. Annie was still asleep in the other room. Peaceful. Whole. Annie had grown to count the other girl as a friend, even in the oddness of the situation. She never asked anymore about the girl he used to share a bed with during the Capitol days, and he never offered. Some truths were too cruel for softness.

But this wasn’t about truth. Not anymore. It was about someone drowning in silence, and the bitter taste in his mouth knowing you might believe no one cared.

He looked out the window at the morning tide rolling in. The sea had always brought comfort before, but now it only whispered your name.

He curses Haymitch’s name softly, then he curses the part of him that still ached to go. He sat there for a long time, letting the weight of the letter press into his chest. He wanted to go, wanted to check up on that girl he use to share every night with, the girl who knew him better than himself, the girl who would do everything in her power to make the best out of their situation.

But he was torn. Just down the hallway, Annie slept soundly, unaware of the turmoil in Finnick’s head. He was worried what going would stir up. Not only in him, but in Annie and, well, you. The memories they’d buried weren’t just Capitol performances. Not all of them. Some things had grown in the cracks. Quiet, complicated things.

He’s not saying it’s love, no. But something else, something that still sits in his chest when the nights grow too quiet.

He misses the way you’d curl against him after the cameras were gone, when it was just the two of you and the silence between. It isn’t love, but it’s longing.

And guilt.

And the hollow ache of knowing you needed him in ways he couldn’t let himself need you back.

Finnick stood in the doorway, watching Annie sleep.

Her chest rose and fell in that slow, peaceful rhythm he used to pray she’d find again. One hand was curled near her face, the other resting gently on the blanket. The sunlight casting rays of light on her face, and for a moment, he felt the familiar tug of everything he loved, everything he chose.

And yet…

He couldn’t stop thinking about you. The other girl. The ghost of something half-real and half-fabricated, who now might be unraveling alone. He could still hear Haymitch’s voice in that damn letter. Could still feel the ache it left behind. He let out a quiet breath, the letter still in his hand as his mind considered if he should go or not.

Surely Annie would understand.

He kissed her forehead softly, barely a whisper of contact, then turned and walked out the door.

—

You hadn’t had a visitor in months. Five, to be exact. The last had been a little girl selling chocolates to raise money for a new bike, something to ride with her friends while summer still lingered. You’d given her a few coins and a soft smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Most people in town had stopped knocking, assuming what you wanted, or needed, was solitude.

But they were wrong.

You didn’t want to be alone. Not really. You just didn’t know how to be around anyone who wasn’t him. He was the only one who could quiet the nightmares, still the shaking in your hands, silence the ache in your chest.

And now? You couldn’t even bring yourself to say his name out loud.

But, you’ve come accustomed to being alone and not having any visitors.

Which is why you were so surprised to hear the faint knock at your front door in the early hours of the day.

It was barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator and the distant chirping outside, but it was there, soft, unsure. Your heart jumped before your mind could catch up, and for a moment, you just sat there, frozen on the edge of the couch, staring toward the door like it might vanish.

No one ever came here. Not anymore.

Another knock. Louder this time, but still careful, like whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure they were welcome.

You stared at the door, heart racing now. It kept going. Three knocks. A pause. Then another. Then, the faint sound of your name falling off of their lips. Your heart seems to drop to your stomach.

Everything in you told you to stay put. To continue about your day, pretending you didn’t hear the familiar sound of a voice that once brought you so much comfort. But, you’ve always had a hard time listening to anybody. Including yourself.

Now, the two of you sit in the living room, the same one you once shared. On opposite sides. A canyon of silence stretching between you.

The ghosts of old laughter cling to the cushions. Your half-finished bottle of liquor rests on the coffee table, untouched since his arrival. You don’t look at him. Not really. You’re not sure you can.

His eyes move slowly around the room, over the unwashed dishes in the sink, the dust that clings to windowsills, the wilted plant in the corner you used to water every morning. Then, finally, they land on you.

You’re thinner. Paler. Hollowed out in ways that go beyond skin and bone. The house looks rougher than it ever had.

And so do you.

You’re so focused on avoiding his gaze that you don’t hear the soft whisper of your name. He repeats it, snapping his fingers this time. Not in a rude way, but just to get your attention. Your head snaps up, your eyes finally meeting his.

“What?” You ask, not registering the question he had asked.

“I asked if you’ve been eating,” he says quietly, his voice gentler than it used to be. Like he’s afraid the wrong tone might make you crumble right there.

You blink, the question hitting you harder than expected. It’s not even the question, really, it’s the way he asks it. Like you matter. Like he remembers how you used to take your tea with honey and sit barefoot by the window when it rained.

You shrug, leaning back against the couch cushion. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?” His jaw tightens, but he says nothing.

The silence between you settles again, heavier than before. You can feel his eyes on you, tracing the shadows under yours, the way your sweater hangs looser than it used to, the trembling in your fingers you think you’ve hidden well.

He looks around the room once more, at the empty bottles lined up near the kitchen wall, at the pile of unopened letters, at the blanket still folded on the end of the couch where he used to fall asleep beside you.

He swallows hard, and when he speaks again, it’s more to himself than to you.

“I shouldn’t have waited so long to come.”

You let out a breath through your nose, quiet but unsteady. Your fingers twist in your lap, knuckles white.

“I didn’t really expect you to show up,” you say softly, voice tinged with frustration and something like resignation. “I thought… I’d just have to wait it out on my own.” He looks at you, eyes searching, unsure how to take that.

“I understood, you know? New life. The life you always wanted. Freedom with the girl you love.” You say, a weak smile ghosting your lips. Your voice falters, but you press on. “I never blamed you. Maybe that’s the hardest part, carrying the weight of your decision, even when I understood why you had to go.”

Silence. Long, awkward silence. The kind of silence where you could almost hear a fly rubbing its legs together, if you listened closely enough. Every tick of the clock seemed louder, marking time that neither of you wanted to fill, as memories and unsaid words crowded the space around you.

Finally, he speaks up.

“Haymitch is worried about you. I’m worried about you.” He mutters, fiddling with his hands as you both avoid each other’s eyes. You inhale sharply, realizing the reason he’s here. Haymitch sent for him.

Your chest tightens, the sting sharp and immediate. Of course. He didn’t come on his own. He had to be told to care, or at least, reminded.

You turn your head slightly, blinking hard as frustration rises in your throat, hot and bitter. “So you’re just… doing him a favor?” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intended, but laced with something close to anger. “You didn’t come because you wanted to. You came because Haymitch asked.”

He looks up at that, startled, maybe, or just ashamed. But the damage is already done. That flicker of hope you felt when you first saw him standing in your doorway? It starts to dim. He whispers your name, standing up quickly.

You stand up with him, holding a hand out as you move behind the chair you were just sitting in, trying to put extra space between you two.

“No, Finnick.” You start, your voice shaky.

“You know that isn’t true,” He cuts you off, his eyes seeming to bleed with regret. “I was going to come. I was. His letter just–“

You scoff, the anger rising back up. “What? Reminded you that I was out here? Reminded you that, oh hey! Maybe we should check up on old friends! Reminded you that there’s other people in this town besides you and your ‘fiancé’?” You say. His eyebrows form into a scowl.

“That’s not how it is and you know it.” He replies, his voice lowering. It’s true. You’re not really mad at him. You’re mad at the aching emptiness, the months of silence, the way everything fell apart and never quite found its way back. But anger’s easier than grief, easier than asking why it took a letter from Haymitch to bring him back to you.

You shake your head, biting your lip hard, trying to stop the words from spilling out. He keeps speaking, gentler now, like he knows you’re on the edge of breaking.

“I came because I care. I always have.”

“Why’d it take you so long?” you ask, your voice soft, almost trembling, not out of weakness, but from the weight of everything you’ve carried alone. You don’t mean for it to sound like an accusation, but it hangs there anyway, sharp and heavy in the stillness of the room.

He swallows hard, eyes flickering toward the floor. “I didn’t know if I’d make it better… or worse,” he says finally. “I thought maybe you wanted space. That maybe I was the last person you’d want to see.”

You glance away, jaw tightening.

“You were the only person I wanted to see.” Finnick looks like he’s been punched in the gut, but you press on, because if you stop now, you won’t be able to say it.

“The bracelet.” You continue. This makes his face contort with confusion for a split second before it softens. He remembers it of course. He hadn’t made it for you, but when he gave it to you that night as a token, he knew it was for you all along.

“Yeah?” He whispered.

“I keep it under my pillow.” You breathe out, your eyes falling to the floor. “In hopes that a singular piece of you can somehow help the nightmares that still continue to haunt me in those late hours.” Your voice is shaking, but there’s still more to be said.

“I think about the week after our wedding, where the Capitol threw us one last big party and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.” You gather the courage to meet his gaze, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes. A lump forms in your throat. “You held my hand and whispered in my ear, reassuring me and telling me it’d all be over soon, and that’d you stay right beside me.”

“I remember that.” He replies, his heart breaking at the sight of your tear filled eyes.

"And then you left," you say, more bitterly now. "Went back to Annie, which I can’t blame you for. I would too if I were in your shoes.” You admit. “But I felt like I was a stopgap. Like none of those moments meant anything."

"That's not true," Finnick says quickly, his voice breaking around the words. "I gave you that bracelet because I didn't know what else to give you. Because it was all I had left of myself that felt real."

"Then why'd you wait so long to come back?" you ask, your voice rising despite yourself. "Why'd you let me drown in this house, in these memories, in the weight of all of it-alone?"

He exhales slowly, like the truth is something he's afraid to say out loud.

"Because I was a coward," he admits. "Because I didn't think I had the right to come back after everything." Silence settles between you again. Not the kind filled with tension, but the kind that aches. That remembers.

You reach for your glass again, hand trembling.

He protests softly, moving closer to try and grab the glass from your hands. His eyes pleading with you. “Please, stop.”

“It’s all I have.” You whisper, eyes falling onto the trembling glass. Despite your desire for the familiar burn, you allow him to take the glass from your hands, setting it down before replacing the emptiness you now feel with his own hands. It feels wrong, holding the hands of someone that feels so distant now.

But then again, you don’t want to let go.

“You have me.” He says, his eyes burning into yours. “You have Haymitch. Even Katniss for goodness sake.” He continues. You’ve received letters from Katniss too, and it shocked you. You two weren’t very close, talking to each other occasionally during lunch in district 13, or gossiping at night about how ridiculous Coin was. Still, you never would’ve thought she’d consider you someone to write to.

“I don’t have you.” You whisper again, eyes dropping to the floor as your hand loosens in his. “I never have.”

Finnick doesn’t respond right away. The silence between you is thick, like smoke, like memory. You hear the way his breath catches, but he says nothing. You pull your hand away gently, suddenly aware of how cold your fingers feel without his warmth.

“You had pieces,” he finally says, voice thick. “The ones I could give.”

You shake your head slowly, bitter and exhausted. “Pieces don’t hold people together.”

He looks away, jaw tight, as if trying to swallow down every moment that lingers between you, every stolen glance, every whispered secret beneath Capitol chandeliers, every night where the weight of the world shrank just enough for you both to breathe in the same rhythm.

“No,” he said quietly. “But maybe they help us remember who we were before we shattered.”

You look away, blinking hard as a wave of heat rises behind your eyes. He continues, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I know I can’t fix it. I can’t go back and choose you the way you want me to. I can’t take away what Snow made us, or what we became after.”

His eyes searched yours, desperate, gentle.

“But I can pick up the pieces with you. Not to pretend we’re whole, or that it didn’t hurt. But so you don’t have to do it alone.”

You swallow hard, your breath catching. “I’m tired, Finnick,” you murmur, voice trembling. “I’ve been tired for so long.” He nods, moving closer, just enough to reach for your hand, not forcing it, just waiting.

“I know,” he says. “But I’m here now. Let me be tired with you.”

It sounds nice. Almost like those moments you used to share. It’d be so easy to slip your hands into his and allow him to hold you while he attempts to put you back together, but in the end, you’d shatter into even more tiny pieces. So, you do the opposite of what your heart is telling you to do.

You pull away.

For a moment, he doesn’t speak. Just stares at the floor with his jaw clenched and eyes glassy. “I get it,” he says finally, voice tight. “You don’t trust me not to break you more.”

His words sting because they’re true, and because they carry no bitterness, just quiet resignation.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come after all,” he adds after a moment, not in anger, but with the kind of softness that comes from years of guilt. “I thought maybe… maybe there was still enough of us left to reach you. But maybe that was selfish.”

You feel the tears reappearing in your eyes, this time making their way onto your face. He reaches out again, slow, gentle, as if not to scare you, and you do what you always do.

You pull away.

But this time, something in him snaps.

Finnick takes a step back, his hand curling into a fist before he drags it through his hair in frustration. The softness in his face dissolves, replaced by something raw, hurt, yes, but also anger.

“Seriously?” he mutters, voice tight. “You’re really going to keep doing this?”

You look up at him, startled, and he lets out a sharp breath, stepping away like he can’t bear to be near you for a second longer.

“I come all this way, not because Haymitch told me to, but because I care, and you just… shut me out. Like I’m the enemy.” He gestures around the room, the dim lighting, the empty bottles, the fading photos on the wall. “This isn’t you. And I know it. But you won’t even let me try to remind you who that is.”

You stay silent. Tears streaming down your cheeks. He takes another breath, softer this time, but there’s still fire behind it. “You’re not just pulling away from me. You’re erasing everything we had , everything we still could have, whatever it is. And you don’t even care.”

Your bottom lip trembles, but you can feel yourself getting angry. How can he say you don’t even care when that’s all you’ve spent the last 5 in a half years doing? In fact, you care TOO much. Maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe you should allow yourself to become that stone hearted girl that seems to care about no one but herself.

He sees the look on your face, one that he can’t describe. That’s when his voice breaks, not angry anymore, just tired.

“You’re really gonna push me out, too, aren’t you?”

“I never asked you to come,” you say sharply, the bitterness cutting through the quiet room like a blade. Your eyes flash with a mix of anger and hurt, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “You think you’re some kind of savior, don’t you? Like you can just walk in and fix everything with a few words or a touch. But you don’t get it.”

Your voice trembles, a raw edge beneath the fury. “Maybe I just don’t want your help, because it’s never really about me, is it? It’s about you, trying to make yourself feel better by helping me.”

You take a shaky breath, tears burning. “So don’t. Don’t come here pretending like you care. Because all you’re doing is reminding me of everything I’ve lost, everything I never had with you in the first place.”

Finnick’s jaw tightens, his frustration bubbling over into something sharper, more bitter.

“Why did I even come here?” he snaps, voice rough with pain. “I thought maybe… maybe you needed someone. Maybe I could help, but you’re just pushing me away like everyone else.”

His eyes darken, and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “Annie. She’s waiting for me. Maybe I should’ve stayed with her instead of wasting my time here.”

Immediately, he regrets the words, seeing the flicker of hurt in your eyes. His anger falters, replaced by a heavy, aching guilt. He swallows, voice softening. “I didn’t mean that… I’m sorry.”

Your tears seem to multiply as that familiar choking sensation fills your throat. You shake your head, your gaze falling to the floor. “No. It’s okay, you’re right.”

He steps closer slowly, pain filling his eyes as he realizes how harmful those stupid words were. “No,” he murmurs, his voice strained now, cracking around the edges. “I’m not right. That’s not what I meant, none of this is what I meant.”

You don’t look up. You can’t. The weight of his words, even the ones he didn’t mean, sit heavy in your chest, pressing down like a stone.

“I shouldn’t have brought her up,” he continues, barely above a whisper. “This isn’t about Annie. This is about you. And me. And… whatever we are.”

You wipe your face, your hand trembling slightly. “We’re nothing, Finnick. We never were.”

He doesn’t argue. He just stands there, helpless, staring at you like he’s watching something fall apart that he doesn’t know how to rebuild.

You take a deep breath, the kind that burns on the way in, like your lungs are protesting, like even your body knows what you’re about to do isn’t right, even if it’s necessary. The silence between you is thick, suffocating, but you break it anyway.

Because you know what needs to happen.

You both need to forget. To let go of the memories, the what-ifs, the almosts. The nights tangled in whispered lies and soft promises that were never meant to last. You need distance, real, unforgiving distance, because every time you look at him, it hurts. And every time he looks at you, it makes you hope.

And hope is a cruel thing to carry in a world like this.

So you steady yourself, your hands shaking slightly as you exhale and say, voice low but final,

“We need to stay away from each other… for good.”

And though your heart breaks for the hundredth time, you don’t take it back. Because maybe, just maybe, this is the only way either of you will survive.

There’s a flicker of resistance behind his eyes. Like he wants to argue, to tell you this is wrong. But he doesn’t. Because deep down, he knows it isn’t. He knows he’s only ever been a reminder of things you’re trying to forget, of pain, of pasts, of love that never had a real name.

So he nods. Once. Sharp and small.

“If that’s what you need,” he says, voice rough, barely more than a whisper. “Then I’ll go.”

He takes a step back, then another, his eyes lingering a little too long on you, like he’s trying to find the strength to walk away from the only person besides Annie who ever saw past the Capitol’s version of him. But he does it. Because he has to. Because staying might break you more.

And just before he turns to leave, he says, quieter this time:

“I hope it helps… even if it means forgetting me, and those nights we spent under the stars.” His words send pains shooting through your chest. You shouldn’t respond, but you do.

“You know I’ll never forget those nights.” Your voice barely carries the words, more breath than sound. A truth that tastes like longing and regret. A truth you wish you could swallow back down.

He gives a weak smile, small, tired, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But it’s real.

“Me either,” he says, eyes glistening, voice rough.

There’s a pause. A moment where neither of you breathe. Where the weight of all the almosts, the what ifs, and the too lates sit heavy in the room.

His gaze lingers on you, just for a second longer, tracing every scar, every shadow, every memory you both carry before he speaks again.

“Goodbye, sweetheart.”

“Bye, Finn.” You respond, choking out a sob as you hear him use that stupid nickname again.

Then he turns, slowly, leaving you with only the echo of his footsteps and the scent of saltwater and something once beautiful, now broken.

pt.3 now available :)

[inuyashaluver]

Leah williamson:

reader plays for chelsea and they have a match chelsea vs arsenal

north london is ? - leah williamson

leah williamson x reader

description: in which you and your girlfriend are enemies on the pitch but absolutely smitten for each other

warnings: suggestive? little swearing - whole lot of fluff, not proofread oopsies

a/n: happy september my loves!!! i eat this shit up, your honour! thank you for the request, enjoyyyyyyyy

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

if there was something that leah felt immense pride over, it would be her lifelong club. arsenal was her home, her place of comfort, and who would’ve expected the girl that bleeds red to be in love with someone that bleeds blue?

leah williamson of arsenal was in love with you, from chelsea.

—

you and leah, the two peas in a pod were incredibly infatuated with each other. it all started in national camps, you and leah collectively making it up in the ranks together. originally, the two of you were best friends, exactly two months apart in age, 5 minutes away from each other's houses.

the progression was natural, and so unbelievably unexpected. you and leah literally began dating out of nowhere.

it was after both of you had training for your respective teams, you went to leah’s, did your usual routine of making dinner together, watching at least three movies before you would head home.

though this one time, when leah walked you to the door, things took a turn.

“alright, babe, drive safe please” leah breathes out, her hand cupping your cheek, smiling at you sweetly before placing a tender kiss on your lips.

you both didn’t even process what just happened. you nod diligently, “i will lee, see you tomorrow!” you grin, closing the door behind you, walking all the way to your car before you freeze.

leah just kissed you. you rush back up to her door, about to knock before leah quickly swung it open before you could even say her name.

“i just kissed you” leah exclaimed, you nod, your hand coming up to touch your lips, “you just kissed me” you confirm, both of you stared at each other for a moment, seconds going by, though feeling like hours.

you and leah both giggle, her hand coming to yours and intertwining them, the other angling your face upwards before she placed her lips on yours once more, slowly backing you into her house. and that’s when you realised, you were in love.

—

you and leah moved in together quickly, a new house the two of you have called home for 5 years. the funniest thing about your relationship, the two of you being in rival clubs. though, you and leah loved it.

you and leah were incredibly flirty in your relationship, teasing being one of yours and leah’s main attributes. you were competitive in the best way, keeping your relationship off the pitch saving the both of you completely.

“oh don’t you look gorgeous!” you tease, coming up behind leah and hugging her from the back. the girl was literally just wearing blue. she laughs, leaning back into you with a cheeky smile as she raked her hair back into a ponytail. 

“well look at you, missy” she gawks jokingly, referring to her red shorts you were wearing, you hop up on the bathroom counter next to her, the girl not hesitating to stand between your open legs while she continued to get ready for bed.

“this means nothing, cappy” you smile at her, booping her nose with your finger before leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

she smiles the moment your lips touched her skin, still feeling giddy after all these years when you showed even the tiniest bit of affection. “mhm, and this colour means nothing, baby” she says cheekily, scrunching her nose up cutely before kissing you.

her hand rests on your thigh, giving it a loving squeeze. when she pulls back from the kiss, she grins at you wolfishly, “but i love you in red” her eyes taking in your appearance.

“sorry but not happening, beautiful” you smile, kissing her again before pulling her into a hug, literally clinging onto her. you always missed her, even when she was right in front of you.

“alright then, maybe we should take the red off” she teases in your ear, her finger making its way to the waistband of the shorts, pulling them back to snap back against your skin.

you chuckle, pulling back to look at her. she smirks when you look her up at down, your hands going under her shirt, “only if i can take the blue off you, i know you don't like it and i can't have you dying on me” you mockingly pout, smiling right after seeing the way leah was looking at you.

“my sweet baby, it's a deal” she laughs, pulling you into a languid kiss before dragging you out of the bathroom.

—

when it came to derby days, oh did you two have fun. you would get ready together dressed in two different club training outfits, being incredibly flirty until the moment you got to your cars and went into game mode. it was hilarious.

“listen, you can score a goal but not past me, got it, darlin’?” leah says sternly, though eyes forming complete hearts as her hand squeezed your cheeks together. “nah, i’m gonna get it past you on purpose” you grin, pulling her hand down to hold it instead. 

she narrows her eyes at you jokingly, her free hand pinching your cheek. “cheeky” she smiles, her hand going from a pinch to a loving caress of her thumb.

“do your best and be careful please, lee baby” your other squeezing her shoulder tenderly. she nods seriously, “you too, my girl” thumb still caressing the apple of your cheek.

you smile and nod at her, letting her hug you tightly, slightly lifting you in the air before she put you down again. “go or you’ll be late” she grins, kissing you sweetly as she pushes you more towards your car.

“always captain williamson, aren't you? it’s not a lioness game” you tease, leah rolls her eyes fondly, squeezing your hips. “yeah, yeah” she cuts you off, kissing you again before opening your car door.

“i love you, my love who is on the wrong side” she teases, “i love you too, my love who is also on the wrong side” you smile cheekily. “ha ha, funny” she kisses you again before pushing you in the car. 

“come on, i don’t want you to be late” she ushers, “if i’m late, i could miss the game and you could win, silly girl,” you tease. leah thinks for a moment, “you’re right actually” she tries to pry you out of the car.

you laugh closing the door, waving at her with the cheesiest smile ever. she waves back in a way that matches your energy before watching you drive away, smiling when you turned off the street before getting in her car and making her own way to the bus.

—

as both teams warm up on the pitch, you and leah began the teasing again. leah walked up to you, hand on your hip as you talked to niamh about something random.

“this doesn’t look like warming up girls” she teases, you shake your head, recognising the touch and voice quicker than the speed of light.

“and what are you doing, lee lee?” you smile up at her, booping her nose with yours, something niamh grimaced at fondly before walking up to aggie to leave the lovebirds alone.

“i can’t come say hello?” she smiles, spinning you around to face her. you can’t help but smile back at her, feeling the love bubble up in your chest.

“are you sure you’re not spying?’ you tease, leah gasps, “never!” you laugh, your hand squeezing her bicep. she gives you a quick, tame kiss before separating from you. "you're forgetting i know you better than myself" she flirts, "you too" you tease.

“do your best, babe” you pull her in for another quick kiss, “you do your best, lee” she smiles, “alright, now go away, you’re distracting me” she jokes.

you laugh in surprise, giving her a playful shove, “you came here! you’re on my side!” you shake your head, leah runs backwards, shrugging her shoulders, “nah, babe, never!” she winks, blowing you a kiss before going back to training.

—

the game ended with an arsenal win, though you managed to score a goal, the score just rounding off to be 2-1. a derby was always a hard match to play, especially if it was at the emirates.

you and leah always saved each other till last at the end of a match, a tradition even from when you were both best friends. she gives you a bittersweet smile when you spot her towards the middle of the pitch, she holds her arms out to you.

you smile, walking into them and letting out a long sigh, leah always gave the best hugs, especially after a loss. “you played so well my love, that goal was class” she says comfortingly, her hands rubbing up and down your back.

there was always a little disappointment after a loss but leah made it so much better. “you played amazing, lee baby” you smile up at her proudly, your hand brushing a stray hair off her forehead from her ponytail. 

“i’m proud of you, darlin’” she kisses your forehead, swaying you gently from side to side, always knowing how to make you feel better as if it was second nature.

“i’m proud of you, baby” you grin, “i almost got that second goal past you, huh?” you tease, leah groans and rolls her eyes with mock anger, “nah, you did not” smile fighting its way to her lips. 

“i did so!” you place your chin on her chest as you look up at her, “listen here, you little shit-” she laughs, though is cut off when you rip yourself from her arms and sprint around the pitch.

the both of you laugh so hard as she chased you around, leah managing to catch you and tackle you to the ground.

you both huff and puff, running around like that after 90 minutes was rough.

you both stare at each other before breaking into another fit of giggles, letting leah help you off the ground before you both went and did a lap of photos and signatures together, just the way you both liked it.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill - pretend it’s you!! ily keiraaaa

liked by bethmead_ and 44, 232 others

leahwilliamsonn: fav time of the year with my fav person xx

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yourname: you're just saying this cause im not in my chelsea gear

↳ leahwilliamson: WHATTTT? NOOOOOOOOOOOOO

↳ yourname: sure, hun

yourname: my fav time too actually

↳ leahwilliamsonn: i'm not your fav person?!

↳ yourname: OF COURSE YOU ARE

↳ yourname: just not on derby days

↳ leahwilliamsonn: touché

[mzyjxu]

Part: 1, 2, 3, 5

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . . ݁

Every few days, Satoru would show up at your door, not with bruises, but with a paper bag rustling with kitten formula, treats, a tiny pink collar with a bell, or a small toy mouse Lady Purrshia would play with in Satoru's presence! (he got jealous and secretly slid it between the couch, he thinks you have no idea but you did watch him being a menace)

One night, he knocked with a bag of premium wet food and declared, “Child support.”

You blinked at him. “Huh?”

He held up the bag like he was shooting for an advertisement. “You’re raising our daughter alone. I’m just doing my part.”

You rolled her eyes, laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”

No matter how crazy he was Lady Purrshia adored him. She’d go full baby mode around him, curling up in the crook of his arm, mewling at his attention, shyly showing him her stomach for pets, purring like she’d swallowed an engine.

And maybe you did too, a little. Not purr. But soften around him.

It felt easy. Safe. Comfortable.

"Now, why is my princess still making biscuits?" he picked her up and sat on the couch. "Is mama making you do extra work at the bakery?" he asked her, holding her in front of his face.

"That's child labour Toru, just accept that your child loves making biscuits” you explained, giggling.

It was perfect.

Everything in the moment was perfect.

Satoru on the couch, holding Lady Purrshia close, her tiny nose pressed into his collar as she purred with absolute trust probably complaining about how you don't give her treats at every hour of the day no matter how cranky she gets, you stood in the kitchen, towel in hand, frozen mid-motion.

You realized that you were looking at him, no, you were looking at him- affectionately.

Your chest ached with a strange kind of warmth. Foreign. Familiar. Dangerous. Safe. Home.

He wasn’t doing anything remarkable, just cradling a kitten, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly along her back, eyes soft. But the way Lady Purrshia leaned into him, the way Satoru looked at her like she was a little moon orbiting his chest—

You felt it. Like something blooming in your ribcage, the same feeling you felt when you found him in front of the dumpster, when he brought Lady Purrshia home, the same damn fluttering.

You blinked. The world outside was changing, just weeks ago you met him in late September, when the sky had wept like it knew your sadness. It had rained endlessly, soaking the city in long hours of grey. You remember pulling your coat tighter around your body when you saw him for the first time, his damp jacket. You were both trying to stay warm in a season that hadn’t quite decided what it was.

Now it's mid-November, the rain had passed. The leaves had turned. Burnt amber, faded gold, soft ochre—the streets were scattered with the colors of things ending gracefully. The puddles have turned into kaleidoscope bouncing the soft sunlight. Something softer, something warmer.

He changed it. He changed your harsh rain into warm sunlight.

Maybe this was what safety looked like.

Not silence. Not stillness.

But a detective with bruised knuckles and a kitten in his lap. Everything is perfect.

Until one day he stopped coming.

On the first day, you thought he was just busy, on the second day you started feeling nervous, texting him Purrshia's pic as an excuse to see if he was fine, he didn't read it, on the third day you called him- no reply, fourth day your anxiety got worse, the feline started noticing her papa missing and mama being so restless, at night she snuggled in your chest, “I’m scared purrshie, I'm like really scared *starts crying softly* I hope.. I hope he is fine" she snuggled closer helping you to sleep.

On the fifth day, you decided that it was all stupid, you were stupid for bringing a stranger home, you were a fool for letting him come over whenever he needed help, absurd for playing house with him- raising a cat, what a nuisance you were.

You still call him every day, just to know if he is safe.

But from his side, silence. No messages. No calls. His phone rang and rang, then went dead.

You waited. Hours became days. A week passed.

By then, worry had cracked open something deeper.

.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖.☘︎ ݁˖

It was the end of a long shift. The ER was buzzing with low chaos—someone was yelling about chest pain, someone else was vomiting in the waiting area. Emergency medicine taught you to be calm as a millpond under all the chaos. You never thought that a man would make you so anxious by not picking up your calls- here you go again thinking about him.

You changed your clothes, throwing your scrubs into the resident's laundry, punching your attendance card, and signing off of your duty, debating on what to eat and the books you need for your master's exam. Then suddenly-

“Doctor, I know your shift’s over, but we’re short-staffed. Quick consult—mild trauma. No interns around.”

You sighed. Your shoulders ached. Your legs felt like concrete. But you nodded. “Its okay, I'am coming.” smiling at her.

You walked briskly into the exam room. Glanced at the chart. Gloved up.

And froze.

There he was.

Satoru.

Standing against the wall, still in his dark jacket. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken, hair disheveled like he hadn’t slept in days. Beside him sat a younger detective, wincing and clutching a bloodied shoulder. Satoru's eyes were wide when he saw you.

You internally felt like a huge rock of constant nervousness and worry had been taken off of you, now that you have seen him- safe, you decided to never get attached with anyone in you life ever again.

You stepped past him, quietly assessing the injury, gently cleaning and bandaging the wound. Your hands were steady. Efficient. Your voice calm and professional.

You didn’t even look at him.

And Satoru knew.

After you finished, you turned to the nurse. “Vitals stable. No need to admit. Discharge when he’s ready.”

"Be careful next time, you got lucky today" you adviced the younger detective, he nodded.

Then you walked out. Picked you bag and stormed out of the centre.

He followed you out of the ER, past the sliding doors and into the cool, sharp air of the parking lot.

“YN—”

You kept walking.

“YN, wait.”

You stopped. Took a deep breath. Turned around. Your eyes flashed—not angry, but hurt. So deeply hurt.

“Where were you?” your voice was low, trembling, you thought you will sound stronger but you enotions took a toll on you. “Why didn’t you pick up me calls? You disappear for a week, and you clearly have your phone with you, was texting me back really that hard?

He was silent. His hands clenched at his sides.

“Do you know how scared I was?” you whispered. “Do you?”

He took a step forward. “Please. Can we just go home? I’ll tell you everything. I swear.”

You stared at him. Your chest rose and fell with the weight of unspoken fears. Then, after a long pause, you nodded.

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸

note: hi guys, this chapter was getting little long so i decided to cut it in two part, the next one will be here asap, thank for reading, i really appreciate ya'll, i will keep on improving, love ya~~

*TO BE CONTINUED*

[b14augrana]

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Your story goes deeper than what meets Alexia’s eye

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 2 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion. aditionally, alexia is pretty mean in this and there wont be a happy ending for a few parts 😬

A/N: massive thank you to this request for the amazing idea 🫶🏼. r is 18 y/o but still going under teen!reader. this is going to be multiple parts because theres so much i could do for this request that i find impossible to fit into one part and write to a good standard, so here you go!

The Stands

Football unites the world. It brings people, cities, and countries together, like nothing else.

You’ve seen it happen in your beautiful hometown of Barcelona — all you can see during the hours leading up to any match set to be played in the Camp Nou is red and blue in the sky. Blaugrana painted the streets below, and the entire city came alive with the commotion from the stadium.

You spent your entire childhood being part of the roaring atmosphere, waving your Barça flag proudly in the air alongside every other flag and wearing the infamous colours across your chest.

Most of all, you prayed with every bit of faith in you, that one day you’d be on the pitch, playing for the club of your dreams.

Everyone in the crowd had their own individual life. There could be a single mother, a lawyer who used up his last days of leave to attend the match, a young boy with his father, an elderly person on an outing with his wife, someone from abroad who’s spent thousands and travelled for hours to watch their favourite player in real life.

11 players could bring together almost 100,000 people just to watch them kick a ball around, and you wanted to have the same effect. You wanted to be so good at football and have the ability to transform a simple sport about kicking a ball around into 90 minutes of entertainment, performance, art. You wanted to do it with Barcelona.

You trained meticulously for months. You passed your small, worn out ball against the same fence in your backyard, you practiced your touch by juggling until the frustration made you storm away in tears and you learned new skills and used your own shoes as cones to pose as defenders and dribble around.

When you went to the Camp Nou to trial for the renowned La Masia academy, you were little and clutching your FC Barcelona backpack for support. The stadium already looked so big when you were up in the stands, but when it was empty and you were actually on the pitch, it was even bigger. You were stood on the same grass as your idols that once had the same dream as you, and that was unbelievable.

The start of your journey as a player at FC Barcelona had begun.

Day after day, you woke up early for training. Your siblings were never awake at that time, so the rare moment of peaceful alone time with your mother was something you looked forward to every morning.

She drove you to the La Masia facilities and then picked you up at sunset. Sometimes, when she had to work late, you and some of your teammates would go to the park and play with the other local kids until your parents came.

Those were the same teammates that you got promoted to the B team with, and the evening 5-a-side games in the park never stopped. They were your best friends — you all shared a common dream of getting to the first team and playing in big tournaments and winning titles, and even though you realistically wouldn’t all be able to do that, no one ever stopped believing that one day it would happen.

As you grew up and your career just started to take off, things started to change. Not just in football, but your life off the pitch too. All at the age of thirteen.

Your father started coming home late. As if your mother was stupid, he’d waltz into the house in the middle of the night, claiming he had to stay a little late because a last minute meeting was called or he lost track of the time. The mild arguments started, and when the late arrivals became more frequent, your mother’s suspicions grew stronger.

One night, it came to a halt. Just when you stopped expecting it, he came home at his regular time; half past six. The only difference was, he didn’t look happy to be home at all. A frown tainted his face ans there was something off-putting about his demeanour. Soon, it all made sense.

You watched from around the corner, your head barely peeking out. Your dad shrugged his blazer off, and you noticed the way his mouth twitched as if hesitating to say something. Once he spoke, a big part of you wished he hesitated a bit more and realised down the line that he was making a bad decision, but it was too late.

The reason he was working late, the secrecy, the floral smells that lingered on his shirts; he was never working overtime, the floral smells were not from the diffuser in the office, and he did have something to hide.

It was called infidelity.

Your siblings emerged from their rooms as soon as the cacophonous yelling started, and you were quick to usher them away from the arguing.

The reality of how bad the situation really was hadn’t yet settled in, but you knew the outcome wasn’t going to be good.

Your youngest brother complained about his rumbling stomach, and the other two were quick to jump on the hunger train. For a moment you were stumped, because you didn’t want to go into the kitchen where the argument was taking place and get dragged into it, so your solution was grabbing a €50 bill and sneaking out to the nearest restaurant.

You were the oldest of four kids. After you was one of two boys, Lorenzo, and then the twins, Magdalene and Dani. They shared the same passion for football as you, and your fondest memories consisted on being in the stands of Camp Nou with them.

All of you snagged a table in a cozy restaurant, one you were familiar with due to going there multiple times with the rest of your family.

The hour you spent in that restaurant with your siblings turned out to be the last hour of a carefree life you’d get to indulge in.

The Pitch

You turned 18 last week, but you got promoted to the first team last month. The headlines painted you as an emblem of success for Barça’s youth programme, the future captain of the first team, and there were all these opinions flying around about you as a player. The opinion that mattered most, though, was that of your captain.

You and Alexia Putellas didn’t get along. Her opinion on you was nothing short of disapproving, and she let you know of that as you arrived at practice.

“(Y/N),” the woman said, her voice holding notes of irritation as she approached you. You looked at her, preparing yourself for the inevitable lecture.

“You’re late again. You might be young, but over here you’re the same as all of us no matter your age, which means getting to training at the same time as us,” she berated you, her hands set on her hips and her eyebrows furled in annoyance.

“Look, captain, I had to–” you started, but your explanation was cut short by Alexia.

“I don’t have time for your excuses. Do better next time, or you’re sitting out of practice entirely. Go run your laps,” she snarled, dismissing you with a wave of her hand.

You could only watch in anger as she stormed away while the others looked at you sympathetically, and you bit your tongue as you walked to the locker room and dumped your bag in your cubby.

She belittled you in every interaction you two had, which was a shame because you really liked her beforehand. In fact, you looked up to her, and you looked forward to being captained by her, but now it was hell on earth every time you entered the gates and met her scrutinising gaze.

Training was nothing special. It was the same old passing drills, small-sided games, shooting and free kick practice, and then before you knew it, home time.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and left before Alexia could stop you and give you yet another lecture. After stopping at the primary school to pick up Magdalene and Dani, you three drove to the middle school to pick up Lorenzo. Barcelona rush hour was rife around the time you picked up your siblings, so you spent another half an hour stuck in traffic until you finally got home.

All you wanted was your bed, and a nap. Still, you dragged yourself to the kitchen to make something quick for dinner so it was ready for your siblings when they were hungry, and then you tidied up in the living room.

Ever since your dad left, your mother was a wreck, leaving you as the successor to her caretaking duties of the kids. She was never a drinker, but after he left, she found herself depending on alcohol for a quick escape.

It was nice for a little bit; a short break from the world that always ended too soon. She kept chasing and chasing that relief until she was in too deep, and it was never enough. The bottles multiplied, the cans lined the rubbish bins, the stench polluted the air that once smelled of a fresh vanilla essence, and she became latched onto it.

You blamed your father for it all, because it was his unchastity that motivated every drink. Your mother was a beautiful woman who loved her family more than herself.

That was what ruined her.

“Hermana, hermana,” Magdalene spoke, tugging on the sleeve of your shirt. You looked down just as you turned off the stove, and she rubbed her stomach, “I’m hungry.”

“Okay hermanita, ask the boys if they’re hungry, please,” you replied, smiling at her. She nodded and ran to their bedrooms, and soon they all emerged from around the corner.

After scooping generous amounts of macaroni and cheese onto their plates, you put some onto your plate and sat down with your siblings to eat. Together, you all talked about your busy days and they listened to you tell them all about your training. They loved hearing your stories about Barça, and every time, Magdalene and Dani would ask you to continue your stories until they fell asleep.

Tonight was no different as you tiptoed out of the twins’ bedroom, gently shutting the door behind you. As much as you loved sleeping after a long day, part of you also dreaded it, because it meant starting a new day and facing Alexia.

When you woke up, it was to gentle knocking on your bedroom door. You were awake enough to comprehend the quiet pattering of footsteps across your hardwood floors, and when tiny hands grazed your skin, you jolted awake. “Hermana, time to wake up! School time!” Magdalene chimed.

So your morning routine began.

With one sock and half your jacket over your head, you made three lunches for the kids right after making their breakfast. Your mother slowly slumped out of her bedroom, wrapping her robe tight around her.

“Bon día,” she mumbled, a smile on her face. With a glance over your shoulder, you acknowledged her before going back to slicing two oranges.

“Morning, mamá,” your siblings responded quietly, shoving food into their mouths to avoid speaking any further. She sat on the couch, sighing deeply.

As she walked past you, you could immediately recognise the stench of alcohol — no surprises there. Years ago, she would’ve smelled like warm musky perfume, not the pungent smell of chemicals.

“Can you make me something, hija? ‘M very hungry,” she said to you, looking your way. You kept your head down, sealing the lunchboxes and cleaning up the counter.

“No, ma, I have things to do. Make your own breakfast,” you responded coldly, “Hermanita, pequeños, bring your dishes here.”

Your siblings scrambled from the table with their empty plates, giving them a quick wash before retreating to their rooms to get their uniform on. On the couch, your mother was still begging for food.

“Hija.. I’m hungry,” the woman slurred.

“Mamá, I have to get your kids to school and go to my own job, which my captain is already angry at me for being late because I have to drive them all around Barna,” you hissed.

“Then I have to come home and make dinner after cleaning your mess. You can make your own breakfast, for once!”

You always felt bad for yelling at your mum, but your life was hard enough with trying to get to work and drop off your three siblings in time while worrying about making your mum a meal.

You had a chance at life. You had a chance to succeed, and you weren’t going to waste it. You weren’t going to rely on a man to look after you in the future until he turns around and wants to look after another woman, leaving you damned.

“Bye, mamá,” you grumbled, grabbing your keys from the bench and swooping your boot bag up from the floor.

It was Dani’s turn to pick which song to play on the radio on the drive to school. He chose a very popular song within your siblings; ‘Me Gustas Tu’. The song had been broadcasted on the radio one day, and everyone seemed to love it. Their favourite part of car rides to school was winding the windows down and singing as loud as they’d like.

Somehow, amongst your father leaving and your mother’s new habits, your siblings were always happy, and that’s what you admired most about them. Maybe they were unaware of the harsh reality, but they were still naïve and unscathed by everything that happened.

It was almost 9:30 in the morning when you started making your way to the training pitch. Mentally, you were preparing yourself for the big lecture you were about to get from Alexia and seriously didn’t need, but physically, you looked unbothered if not a bit tense in the shoulders.

You almost tripped on your way out of the car as you rushed around to get your gear. Walking into training everyday just to get yelled at by Alexia was never nice, but you were used to it. Unfortunately.

That wasn’t the sort of relationship a captain should have with one of her players. It was almost like she despised you, and if she had her way, you probably would’ve been off the team within the first week.

Sure enough, when you appeared on the pitch, the first thing you heard was the low whispers beside you.

“…She’s irresponsible and doesn’t belong on the first team. Being late once, I understand, but multiple times? Her excuses are not good enough–”

“Excuses? Ale, you’ve never let her explain herself.”

“There shouldn’t be any need for excuses anyways, because she shouldn’t be late at all. If she wants to take her time and be let off easy like a child, send her back to the B team. Look, she isn’t even here yet.”

“She is, though. Look behind you.”

The woman turned around, her glare settling on you and being as cold as ever. She spun her whole body around and folded her arms across her chest, her frown heavy.

You sighed, looking down to your feet. It made you feel even worse that you couldn’t help it, and you couldn’t explain it to her either, because that action had potential to get your siblings taken away.

“Drop your bag, get comfortable. You’re not training today,” she snapped.

Your heart sunk. You fought to fend off any tears from forming on your waterline as you nodded, raising your head slightly.

“Listen, (Y/N). This team is everything to me. I have lots of respect for the people who coach us and come here to be coached. You, showing up late? That shows a lack of respect for those people. You’re lazy, unorganised, irresponsible–”

Irresponsible was untrue. If anything, you were the most responsible person you’ve ever known, but Alexia didn’t know that because she didn’t care to know you.

“…I can’t expect you to represent our club and our city on big stages if you can’t even come to training on time. You aren’t FC Barcelona material, and unless things change, you never will be.”

Your lip quivered as your body aligned to bolt for the locker room as soon as she left you alone, away from the watchful eyes that surveyed you in pity when had you arrived. Alexia turned on her heel and stormed away past Mapi, whom she was talking to previously.

She left you in her wake, crestfallen and misunderstood, defeated by circumstances beyond your control.